e  LETTER 


T    T 


CHARLES  FELTON  PIDGIN 


y 


\ 


T^— - ' 


The  Letter  H 

A  Novel 


Br 
CHARLES   FELTON  PIDGIN 

Author  of tl  Blennerhatutt,"  lt  S^uincy  Adamx  Sawyer" 
"  Tk*  Climax,"  etc.,  tte. 


G.    W.    DILLINGHAM     COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1904,  by 

G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


The  Letur  H  Itsued    ^  I<?04 


This  Book 

is  dedicated  to  My  Friend 

MISS  MARION  LAIRD  LAW 

of 

Newark,   New   Jersey 

in  Recognition  of 

Many  Suggestions  and  Much  Encouragement 

During  Its   Writing 


URL    CC/ 

■  /935W8 


CONTENTS 


I.  Harlington  Hall         ....      9 
II.  When  the  Brave  Meets  the  Fair  .         .     24 

III.  From  a  Far  Country .         .         .         .39 

IV.  Prisoners  of  Fate       .         .         .         .54 
V.   Colonel  Higby  Takes  to  Match-making    65 

VI.  "  The  Traumerei"      ....     75 

VII.  Two  Men  and  a  Maid        .        .        .86 

VIII.   Traces  of  an  Inheritance    .         .         .97 

IX.  A  Chance  Encounter  ....  110 

X.  Two  Guests  from  Italy       .        .        .  120 

XI.  Another  Rebuff 128 

XII.   I7i£  Dance  at  Harlington  Hall  .         .  134 

XIII.  The  Revenge  of  Carmelita  .         .         .  147 

XI V.  More  Disclosures        .         .         .         .158 
X  V.    What  Came  Afterward      .         .         .171 

XVI.   On  Newspaper  Row    .         .         .         .180 

XVII.  A  Sewing  Lesson        ....  193 

XVIII.   The  New  Arrival  at  the  Montignac     .  205 

XIX.   The  Love-making  of  Herman      .         .  215 

XX.  A  Retrospect  and  a  Forecast       .         .  226 

XXL  "  Over  the  Summer  Sea"     .        .        .232 

7 


Contents 

GHAPTEB  FAGK 

XXII.    Under  the  Pine  Balsams         .        .  236 

XXIII.  The  Loves  of  Pichard      .        .         .242 

XXIV.  Infinite  Passion  and  Finite  Pain   .  247 
XXV.  The  letter  H 261 

XXVI.  "It  is  all  Mine!"   .        .        .        .270 

XXVII.  A  Tale  Half  Told  .        .        .        .277 

XXVIII.  A  Love  Won— and  Lost!         .        .  281 

XXIX.  The  Last  of  the  Red-gold  Leaves      .  293 

XXX.  Love's  Laurels         ....  304 

6 


THE   LETTER  JH 


CHAPTEK   I 


HABLINGTON    HALL 


"  Y'  run  'long  dar,  Rastus,  d-dar's  gwine  be  a  sho' 
nuff  fes'val  in  d-dis  yere  old  house  nex'  week,  w-when 
Mis'  Doras  is  a  'counV  back  hum." 

"  Does  yo'  k-k-knowed  f  o'  suttin'  shore,  Jimmy  ?  " 

"  Sho'  nuff.  Ole  Mars'  da  h-he's  gib  m-ma  de 
odors  fo'  a  jolly  big  s-s-spread.  De  chickens  gwine 
cum  be  killed  by  de  w-w-wholesale  an'  de  oys'ers 
gwine  cum  up  in  bags  an'  dar's  gwine  be  pie  an',  an' 
ice  cream,  an' " 

"  An'  c-c-cake,  Jimmy  ?  " 

"  Cake,  shore,  an'  boat  full  o'  c-candy — an'  all  de 
folkses  is  c-comin'  up  frum  York,  an'  all  roun'  de 
kentry." 

"  S-say,  Jimmy,  is  we  uns  c-comin'  in  fo'  any  o' 
dis?" 

"  L-lor',  Rastus,  de  Lor'  hisself  ain't  near  so 
g-g-genr'us   as   de   ole   Marse   Gen'al   w-w-when  it 

9 


The  Letter  H 


come  to  doin'  any  thin'  fo'  Miss  Dorus,  an'  I  heerd 
him  say  wif  his  own  mouf'  dat  de  chilluns  wus  to 
hab  all  dey  could  eat,  an'  we's  shorely  de  chilluns, 
ain'  we?" 

The  youngsters  loitered  along  the  box-bordered 
path,  past  the  front  of  the  mansion,  and  slowly 
around  to  the  side.  Two  little  curly-headed  coons 
they  were,  their  black  eyes  round  with  mischief. 
Four  dusky  cheeks  were  puffed  out  fat  and  healthy; 
four  little  black  hands  each  nestled  in  its  own  partic- 
ular pocket ;  and  four  little  black  feet  dragged  lazily 
over  the  path.  They  were  so  exactly  alike  that  it  was 
only  Jimmy's  extra  six  inches  that  distinguished  him 
from  Rastus.  Unless  they  were  together  and  the 
extra  height  of  the  one  was  evident,  there  was  no 
means  of  telling  them  apart.  They  talked  alike, 
even  to  the  stutter.  It  was  delicious.  It  lingered 
over  the  b's  and  m's  and  struggled  with  the  ch's  and 
k's.  Nor  was  it  only  an  occasional  stutter.  It  was 
ever  on  the  lips  of  the  boys  as  it  was  ever  on  the  lips 
of  their  father.  Still  chattering  of  the  delights  of 
the  coming  feast,  they  disappeared  around  the  end 
of  the  porch. 

Harlington  Hall,  located  on  the  western  shore  of 
the  Hudson  River,  far  up  past  Storm   King   and 

10 


Harlington  Hall 


Crow's  Nest,  stood  like  some  old  castle  of  the  Long 
Ago.  It  was  not  that  it  was  particularly  ancient,  for 
it  had  stood  under  the  shade  of  the  big  elms  for  less 
than  two  decades.  The  boards  of  which  it  was  con- 
structed were  wide  and  caulked,  giving  it  the  appear- 
ance of  stone;  and  its  color  in  the  shadow  of  the 
trees  showed  dull  gray.  Solitary,  square,  sombre, 
it  was  manorial.  The  lawn,  broken  by  many  shrubs 
and  trees,  stretched  down  to  within  two  score  feet  of 
the  shore,  where  a  long  terrace  began,  ending  at  the 
railroad. 

The  owner  had  put  soul  into  the  building  of  his 
house,  for  it  was  one  to  dream  of  and  to  love.  What 
the  building  lacked  in  decoration,  if  it  lacked  aught 
in  having  none,  was  more  than  compensated  by  the 
picturesque  environment.  Great  tall  trees  stood 
close  to  it,  elms  and  chestnuts,  where  the  sun  played 
at  hide-and-seek;  and  in  front  of  the  house,  just 
beyond  the  wide  driveway,  were  two  huge  cedars, 
the  pointed  tips  of  which  reached  past  the  topmost 
gables;  while  below,  spreading  inch  by  inch  from 
point  to  base,  the  lower  branches  swept  the  ground, 
covering  an  area  of  forty  feet.  Between  them  was 
the  walk  to  the  river,  and,  standing  like  eternal  guar- 
dians, they  called  forth  ever-repeated,  ever-wonder- 

11 


The  Letter  H 


ing  remark  from  those  who  saw  them.  When  they 
were  planted,  or  by  whom,  none  knew;  but  an  old 
Indian  legend  had  it  that  these  tall  sentinels  were  set 
over  the  bodies  of  two  white  squaws,  stolen  from  the 
land  of  the  Connecticuts  by  a  chieftain  of  the 
Shwangunks.  Circumstance  waits  for  neither  tale, 
nor  tradition  to  build  her  castles;  nor  did  General 
Harlington  delay  in  the  building  of  his  mansion 
because  of  the  morbid  relic  of  Indian  lore,  but  chose 
the  spot  back  of  the  twin  evergreens. 

On  a  certain  mellow  afternoon  in  the  late  spring- 
time, when  the  grass  was  greenest  in  all  the  year; 
when  the  leaves  were  young  and  the  rosebuds  were 
beginning  to  show  color;  when  the  birds  were  sing- 
ing the  long  days  through  and  the  river  and  the  sky 
were  as  blue  as  sapphires,  a  stranger  came  walking 
up  the  gravel  path  from  the  river,  having  reached 
it  by  way  of  the  railroad  track  from  a  landing  a  short 
distance  away.  His  clothes  were  conventional,  no 
less  his  appearance.  He  seemed  more  like  a  mer- 
chant of  large  and  prosperous  affairs  than  the  mem- 
ber of  Congress  and  sharp  politician  that  he  really 
was.  His  skin  was  sallow,  and  his  eyes,  which  were 
dark,  had  a  half-shifting  glance.  As  he  made  his 
way  slowly  up  the  length  of  the  path  toward  the 

12 


Harlington  Hall 


house,  his  eyes  wandered  approvingly  over  the  fine 
old  mansion  with  its  air  of  affluence.  He  was  con- 
sidering with  cold  calculation  that  the  house  was 
admirably  located — a  few  minutes'  walk  from  the 
landing,  only  a  short  distance  from  the  village  and 
a  pleasant  drive  from  one  of  the  fair-sized  cities  of 
the  Hudson.  On  the  several  hundred  acres  which 
comprised  the  small  realm  were  a  stock  farm  and 
a  truck  garden  of  considerable  size.  Indeed,  there 
seemed  nothing  lacking.  One  thing,  as  much  a  part 
of  the  estate  as  the  house  itself,  he  overlooked.  At 
the  foot  of  the  great  steps  stood  a  mongrel — half 
setter,  half  cocker — with  ear«»  alert  and  eyes  bright, 
ready  to  welcome  or  forbid  the  newcomer.  As  the 
man  came  out  of  the  shade  of  the  two  cedars,  the 
dog,  dissatisfied  with  its  close  scrutiny,  sprang  with 
a  threatening  growl.  The  stranger  started,  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  attempted  to  mount  the  steps.  The 
dog  barked,  short  and  snappy,  and,  stretching  out 
a  long  neck,  fastened  his  teeth  in  the  visitor's  trou- 
sers, just  escaping  the  flesh  but  securing  a  firm  hold, 
thus  forcing  him  to  a  standstill.  Dogs,  like  children, 
know  their  friends. 

At  this  point  the  big  oaken  door  was  swung  back 
and  the  master  of  the  house  stood  on  the  threshold. 

13 


TJie  Letter  H 


y  There  was  no  mistaking  him.  The  courtly  manner, 
the  military  bearing,  the  fine,  kindly  face,  could  be- 
long only  to  General  Horace  Harlington. 

"Come,  Sire,"  he  said  sternly;  then,  recognizing 
the  newcomer,  he  came  briskly  down  the  steps,  hold- 
ing forth  his  hand  in  welcome;  and,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  genuine  pleasure,  continued: 

"  Why,  Higby,  old  man,  I'm  right  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  the  stranger,  "  but  your 
hospitality  is  well  guarded.  Your  brute  of  a  dog 
nearly  finished  me." 

"  Sire,  poor  dog,  is  getting  old  and  querulous,  like 
his  master.     Did  he  really  injure  you  ?  " 

Harlington,  after  examining  the  torn  trousers, 
led  his  guest  into  the  house,  jovially  asking  man^ 
questions. 

The  interior,  like  the  exterior,  suggested  comfort, 
ease  and  luxury.  There  was  no  attempt  at  over 
decoration.  The  wide  reception-room,  the  hall  and 
the  apartments  adjoining,  were  hung  with  rich  tapes- 
tries and  laid  with  Persian  carpets,  while  all  about 
was  a  quantity  of  quaint,  antique  furniture. 

The  big  dog  had  followed  the  two  into  the  re- 
ception hall,  and,  still  keeping  a  watchful  eye  upon 

14 


Harlington  Hall 


Higby,  stretched  out  near  his  master.     Harlington 
looked  down  at  the  beast  and  up  at  the  man. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  Sire  gave  you  so  unpleasant  a 
welcome  to  Harlington  Hall,"  he  said,  "  but  re- 
member, you  are  almost  a  stranger  here  now.  Five 
years  is  a  long  time  to  a  dog." 

"  And  to  a  man,"  Higby  responded.  Then  he 
added  gallantly,  "  Except  to  you,  General.  The 
years  pass  you  lightly." 

The  General's  face  had  been  alight  with  ingenuous 
gladness,  but,  at  this  reference  to  the  passage  of 
time,  a  bit  of  sadness  crept  into  his  smile. 

"  They  leave  their  mark,"  he  said  gravely;  "  not 
on  my  white  head — it  was  white  twenty  years  ago. 
But  every  day  that  takes  me  farther  from  my  dead 
wife  brings  me  no  nearer  resignation." 

Higby's  face  was  serious.  He  lighted  a  cigar  be- 
fore he  spoke  and  puffed  at  it  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  And  the  little  girl,"  he  asked  at  length,  a  how 
is  she  ? " 

"  Her  aunt  writes  that  she  is  well.  They  have 
been  in  Paris  for  a  long  time,  you  know.  She  seems 
to  be  enjoying  herself  continually,  with  the  gaieties 
and  the  shopping.  There  has  been  no  time  for 
morbid  fancies." 

15 


The  Letter  H 


The  General  turned  to  one  of  the  windows  and 
looked  out  over  the  peaceful  scene — the  sunshine 
dancing  on  the  water,  and  the  grass,  and  the  gently- 
moving  boughs.     He  sighed  a  little  and  said  slowly : 

"  Poor  little  girlie !  I  fear  this  place  will  be  too 
dull  for  her." 

Then  he  turned  and  looked  at  Higby,  and  added 
impressively : 

"  I  can  never  free  my  mind  from  the  thought  of 
the  inheritance  of  my  innocent  darling.  It  is  the 
penalty  of  the  past,  though  God  knows  that  it  was 
not  my  crime." 

In  the  shadow  of  the  curling  blue  smoke,  Higby 
sat  in  silence.  His  face  grew  very  white  and  showed 
the  dark  rings  under  his  eyes.  He  lifted  his  cigar 
to  his  lips  and  let  it  drop  regularly  for  several  min- 
utes, and  then  in  his  easy,  natural  way  he  spoke : 

"  You  expect  Dorus  home  soon  ?  " 

"  Next  week.  Lenore  says  she  is  very  like  her 
mother." 

After  they  had  talked  some  time  of  Dorus  and  her 
trip  abroad,  the  General  turned  impressively  to  his 
friend : 

"  Henry,  it  is  a  little  over  twenty  years  since  I 
built  this  house.     I  was  not  a  young  man,  and  I  had 

16 


Harlington  Hall 


grown  tired  of  living  alone  and  wanted  a  home. 
Besides,  I  hoped  that  some  day  I  should  meet  a 
woman  whom  I  would  wish  to  make  its  mistress. 
Hardly  was  it  built  when  Lincoln's  second  call  for 
volunteers  obliged  me  to  leave  it  and  enter  the  army. 
While  in  Louisiana,  as  you  well  know,  I  met  my 
fate.  How  I  wished  the  cruel  war  would  close,  so 
that  I  might  bring  her  here  and  live  the  life  for 
which  I  had  so  long  yearned.  I  knew  that  she  would 
love  the  river,  and  the  country,  and  the  house,  and 
we  planned  that  here  we  should  grow  old  together. 
I  have  never  changed  one  thing  in  the  house — not 
one  thing.  It  remains  as  she  would  have  seen  it 
if  her  life  had  been  6pared,  and  now  our  little  girl 
is  coming  home — our  little  girl  whose  mother  died 
without  knowing  that  her  child  was  a  daughter." 

Harlington  leaned  against  the  window  frame,  and 
the  silence  was  unbroken  save  for  the  regular  tick, 
tick,  tick  of  the  grandfather's  clock.  Higby,  be- 
hind the  clouds  of  blue  smoke,  was  making  a  des- 
perate effort  to  maintain  his  composure. 

"  It  was  eighteen  years  ago  that  she  died  and 
Dorus  was  born,"  Harlington  went  on,  "  but  those 
years  have  not  softened  the  pain  one  whit,  Henry; 
and  the  longing  and  the  loneliness  are  as  strong  to- 
day as  they  ever  were." 

17 


The  Letter  H 


Harlington  was  perceptibly  moved.  "  I  don't  talk 
like  this  very  often,"  he  said,  "  and  you  are  the 
only  man  I  could  talk  to  about  it  at  all.  I  have  not 
had  a  chance  to  speak  to  you  for  five  years,  so  you 
will  have  to  let  an  old  man  rave  on  a  bit  more.  I 
was  lonely  enough — God  knows  I  was — for  thirty- 
eight  years  before  she  came  into  my  life  to  make 
it  heavenly.  Then,  after  just  two  years  of  our 
dream,  it  snapped  like  that,  and  now  I'm  lonelier 
than  ever." 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  room  like  a  caged 
beast,  his  face  bent  into  inexorable  sternness,  his 
eyes  glinting  steel  blue. 

"  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  I  am  so  powerless. 
Nothing  could  bring  my  wife  back  to  me." 

For  a  few  minutes  the  General  paced  on,  then 
turned  to  his  guest  almost  bitterly: 

"  I  didn't  intend  to  treat  you  this  way,  Higby, 
but  a  man  has  certainly  got  to  let  his  feelings  out 
some  time.     Dinner  at  six,  Higby." 

Higby  arose.  The  air  in  the  house  had  grown 
stifling,  and  he  wanted  the  wind,  and  the  air,  and 
the  sunshine.  He  wished  to  get  away  from  the 
house,  away  from  the  General;  to  be  alone  under 
the  blue  sky,  and  with  miles  and  miles  of  the  blue 

18 


Harlington  Hall 


river  before  him.  But  even  there  he  would  wish 
to  hide.  Eighteen  years  of  misery  for  Harlington! 
Why,  it  had  been  eighteen  years,  and  seven  more, 
for  him — twenty-five  years  of  horror,  unhappiness 
and  wrong-doing! 

Meanwhile,  at  the  house,  Harlington  was  trying 
to  dismiss  the  matter  from  his  mind.  He  had  known 
Higby  since  they  were  lads  together  at  college;  and 
he  had  made  a  confidant  of  his  friend  during  all  the 
years  that  had  intervened,  never  doubting  that  that 
confidence  was  reciprocated.  Calming  his  nerves 
by  that  eminently  masculine  panacea,  a  strong,  black 
cigar,  he  called  his  man,  bidding  him  prepare  for 
the  guest.  By  the  time  the  evening  meal  was  an- 
nounced his  bitter  mood  was  gone,  and  at  the  dinner 
table  the  two  old  friends  talked  of  stocks  and  bonds, 
the  last  great  railroad  accident  and  the  changes 
which  -the  years  had  brought  to  each.  Higby  never 
forgot  that  meal.  Sitting  there  in  the  warm  glow 
of  the  hanging  lamp,  cheerful  though  the  place  was, 
it  seemed  lonesome,  as  if  there  was  something  lack- 
ing. He  remembered  the  woman  who  might  have 
made  the  house  a  home. 

"  It  seems  a  bit  lonesome,"  he  said. 

"  It  is/'  replied  the  host,  laying  down  his  knife 
19 


The  Letter  H 


and  fork  and  looking  across  the  table  at  Higby; 
tt  here  I  am  in  this  big  house,  and  not  a  soul  to  bear 
me  company  but  the  servants  and  their  children — 
and  good  old  Sire.  By  the  way,  how  is  the  leg? 
He  didn't  really  hurt  you,  did  he  ? " 

"  No,  only  my  trousers.  The  pair  is  in  ruins. 
Fortunately,  your  invitation  bade  me  come  prepared 
to  stay,  and  I  have  a  supply  to  draw  upon." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  Sire.  He  is 
usually  gentle  with  strangers — except  tramps." 

"  He  probably  thought  me  one,"  said  Higby,  with 
a  laugh. 

"  Not  that,  my  Lord  Chesterfield,"  said  the  host; 
"you  were  ever  a  gallant,  Henry,  and  in  the  old 
days  many  a  chase  you  led  me  with  the  girls.  It's  a 
fact,  Henry,  though  I  never  acknowledged  it  before, 
that  I  was  mightily  glad  you  were  off  in  Paris  with 
your  wife  when  I  went  courting  in  New  Orleans. 
Gad,  Henry,  I  was  glad  in  those  days  that  you  and 
your  latest  fashions  were  not  around.  Until  Dorus 
told  me  that  she  would  marry  me,  I  wouldn't  even 
risk  a  meeting  with  you. 

"  Well,  you  found  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  after 
all.     She  didn't  like  me  when  we  did  meet." 

"  Curious,  wasn't  it  ? "  said  the  General,  stroking 
20 


Harlington  Hall 


his  mustache.  "  It  was  the  only  thing  that  both- 
ered me — that  she  didn't  seem  to  want  you  about 
at  all.  It  would  have  bothered  me  more,  perhaps, 
if  she  had."  He  added  a  trifle  wistfully,  "  Well,  it 
won't  be  lonesome  here  when  Dorus  gets  home. 
Lenore  writes  that  wherever  they  go  she  is  the  life 
of  the  place.  It's  two  years  since  I've  seen  her, 
and  then  she  was  the  merest  child.  Lenore  has  been 
like  a  mother  to  her.  And  your  boy,  Higby,  how 
is  he?" 

"  The  apple  of  mine  eye.  Quite  as  fine  a  youth 
as  your  daughter  is  a  maiden.  He  is  everything 
that  could  be  desired  in  a  son.  I  am  waiting  now 
to  see  the  happy  termination  of  our  compact,  made 
when  my  boy  was  in  kilts  and  your  girl  in  the 
cradle." 

"  Yes,  Henry,  but  Dorus  is  to  make  her  own 
choice.  She  is  young  yet,  and  unless  she  chooses 
Herman  of  her  own  free  will,  the  compact  must  be 
broken." 

"  He  that  sweareth  to  hi3  own  hurt  and  changeth 
not,"  quoted  Higby  soberly. 

"  That  is  scriptural,"  said  Harlington,  "  but  the 
Bible  never  said :  He  that  sweareth  to  another's  hurt 
and  changeth  not.  No,  Higby,  a  broken  compact, 
but  not  a  broken  heart" 

21 


The  Letter  H 


"  The  heart  must  be  guided,"  and  Higby  involun- 
tarily began  to  take  an  inventory  of  the  good  things 
his  son  would  miss  if  he  lost  the  heiress  of  Har- 
lington. 

"  Guided,  but  not  forced,"  said  the  General 
sagely.  "  Nothing  would  pain  me  so  much  as  to 
know  that  the  compact  must  be  broken ;  but  I  would 
break  every  contract  in  the  world  rather  than  ruin 
my  baby's  happiness."  He  brought  his  hand  down 
on  the  table,  making  the  glasses  clink;  and  then, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  said  quietly :  "  It  all  de- 
pends on  a  woman's  caprice." 

Higby's  look  was  tragic.  "  My  boy  has  built 
castles  in  the  air  without  number,"  he  said  sadly, 
"  and  Dorus  Harlington  has  been  the  queen  of  them 
all.  It  would  break  his  heart,  and  mine  too,  if  the 
contract  were  broken." 

Harlington  leaned  across  the  table  and  took  his 
friend's  hand: 

"  It  rests  with  a  mightier  than  us  all,"  he  said 
solmenly.  "  Fate  alone  will  guide  the  caprice  of 
a  woman;  and  it  may  be  for  us,  and  it  may  be  for 
her,  that  the  die  is  cast." 

It  was  late  when  the  party  of  two  broke  up.  They 
bade  each  other  good  night  at  the  foot  of  the  wide 

22 


Harlington  Hall 


stairway;  Higby  to  go  to  his  room  and  dream  of 
Harlington  Hall  and  all  its  coveted  possessions,  and 
the  master  of  Harlington  to  the  little  library  where 
were  kept  all  his  dearest  treasures. 

From  out  of  the  carved  secretary  he  took  a  jewel 
case,  and  lifted  therefrom  a  miniature  set  about 
with  pearls  and  rubies.  Out  from  the  blazing  circlet 
looked  a  face  radiantly  beautiful.  Masses  of  dark 
brown  hair  piled  high  in  the  fashion  of  the  early 
sixties,  a  curling  lock  falling  over  a  white  shoulder 
and  resting  on  a  whiter  breast,  gray  eyes  full  of 
world  love  and  heaven  love,  a  nose  that  tilted  a  bit, 
and  a  mouth  that  was  large,  sweet  and  sensitive — a 
face  for  women  to  love  and  for  men  to  worship — 
the  face  of  the  mother  of  Dorus  Harlington. 


23 


CHAPTER   n 

WHEN   THE   BRAVE   MEETS   THE   FAIR 

"  Good  morning,  Carina." 

"  Good  morning,  Ernesto.     Did  you  sleep  well  ?  " 

"  Amazingly  well.     And  you,  Carina  ?  " 

"  Ah,  so  so.     I  had  a  bad  dream." 

"  Ah !   the   midnight   feast      We   must   dispense 

with  them." 

"  Yes,  we  must,  but  not  because  of  bad  dreams." 

"  Surely  not  because  of  bad  money  ? " 

"  Because  of  no  money." 

"  But  the  checks  which  came  yesterday  ? " 

"  Must  serve  until  the  season  opens  next  fall." 

"  There  are  the  summer  hotels  and " 

"  Surely,  but  there  are  the  bills,  and  the  people 

who  think  a  poor  violinist  and  his  mother  mere  clods 

who  would  not  know  how  to  handle  money  if  they 

got  it." 

"  But  if  we  should  find  my  father " 

"  And  if  we  should  not  find  him  ?  " 
The  woman  turned  to  the  man  as  she  asked  the 
24 


When  the  Brave  Meets  the  Fair 

question.  There  was  bitterness  in  her  voice,  but 
none  in  her  face.  About  her  was  an  atmosphere  of 
gentle  sweetness,  and  in  her  manner  something  that 
was  most  refined.  At  the  first  glance,  the  woman 
seemed  scarcely  old  enough  for  the  relation  between 
the  pair  to  be  that  of  mother  and  child;  but  the 
man,  who  was  perhaps  eighteen  years  younger,  re- 
sembled her  sufficiently  to  be  recognized  immedi- 
ately as  her  son.  Unlike  the  majority  of  dark 
women,  who  appear  older  than  their  years,  Mme. 
del  Tonjours,  as  she  called  herself,  seemed  almost 
girlish.  Her  hair  was  black,  and  her  eyes  were 
large  and  limpid.  The  whites  had  a  curious  bluish 
tinge,  and  even  in  the  morning  sunshine  they  were 
starry.  Her  throat,  as  it  showed  above  the  cream- 
white  border  of  her  morning  gown,  was  full  and 
white,  and  her  arms,  which  showed  in  the  loose 
sleeves,  were  plump  and  dimpled. 

While  the  young  man  had  her  features,  his  char- 
acter had  evidently  been  cast  in  a  different  mould. 
She  was  southern,  he  was  essentially  American — 
not  in  lineaments,  but  in  pose,  carriage  and  manner. 
Like  his  mother's,  his  hair  was  black,  and  hung  clus- 
tering over  his  forehead,  long  and  curling.  Both 
spoke  in  English,  the  mother  with  a  slight  Spanish 

25 


The  Letter  H 


accent,  the  son  without  more  than  a  suggestion  of 
foreign  origin. 

"  And  if  we  should  find  him — what  then  ?  "  the 
woman  repeated  slowly. 

The  boy  clenched  his  hands  and  drew  himself  up 
to  his  full  height,  his  expression  serious  and  stern. 
Then  he  threw  his  arms  about  his  mother  and  cried, 
laughing : 

"  Another  year  of  happiness  for  us,  sweetheart." 

"  Yes,  Ernesto,"  said  the  mother  simply. 

She  lifted  her  hands  to  his  shoulders  and  kissed 
him  tenderly  on  the  lips ;  then  she  pushed  back  the 
dark  hair,  and  bringing  his  face  down  to  hers  placed 
her  lips  fervently  upon  a  blood-red  scar  in  the 
centre  of  his  forehead.  For  a  full  minute  her  lips 
rested  on  it;  and  then,  the  little  ceremony  over,  she 
walked  swiftly  out  of  the  room  into  an  adjoining 
chamber. 

The  boy  swung  out  of  the  door,  down  the  long 
corridor  and  out  into  the  street.  "  Poor  mother," 
he  was  thinking,  "  she  will  never  rest  until  she  has 
found  my  father." 

He  turned  into  Park  Avenue  and  walked  along 
at  a  rapid  stride.  Tall  and  broad-shouldered,  with 
the  gracefulness  of  movement  that  marks  the  Latin 

26 


When  the  Brave  Meets  the  Fair 

races,  with  his  handsome  head  held  erect  and  his 
eyes  snapping  with  fire  and  life,  he  attracted  a 
great  deal  of  attention.  Both  men  and  women 
turned  to  look  at  him.  People  invariably  fancied 
that  he  was  "  somebody,"  that  indefinite  term  ap- 
plied to  those  out  of  the  ordinary.  At  any  rate, 
there  was  little  conventionality  about  Ernesto  del 
Tonjours.  , 

It  was  nearly  noon;  the  sun  was  warm  and  bril- 
liant, and  in  the  freshness  of  the  air  he  threw  aside 
the  shadow  that  had  come  with  his  mother's  words. 
A  baby,  in  daintiest  clothes,  looked  up  at  him,  and 
at  his  smile  crowed  happily;  a  dog  sniffed  at  his 
heels,  and  he  turned  and  snapped  his  fingers  at  it. 
The  sparrows  were  chattering  gaily,  and  the  peace 
and  happiness  of  early  summer  had  settled  even  in 
Park  Avenue.  The  earth  was  in  harmony  with 
the  sky,  and  the  world  was  in  harmony  with  heaven, 
this  sunshiny  June  day. 

Under  the  balmy  influences,  Ernesto  forgot  that 
only  a  little  earlier  in  the  day  the  whole  world  had 
seemed  sadly  out  of  joint,  and  that  his  mother's 
search  for  the  father  had  never  seemed  so  futile. 
He  was  young,  and  the  world  was  all  before  him. 
He  turned  into  Forty-second  Street,  crossing  over 

27 


The  Letter  H 


to  the  "big  station.  The  hurrying  crowd  was  life  to 
him.  He  had  been  in  quaint  old  Mexico,  he  had 
seen  the  throngs  in  Munich,  and  had  watched  the 
streams  of  people  on  the  boulevards  in  Paris;  but 
in  this  hurrying,  ever-moving,  ever-changing  human 
kaleidoscope  he  saw  all  nations,  all  people.  The 
women  were  more  beautiful  than  any  he  had  seen 
in  Paris;  more  quaint  and  fantastic  than  even  Mex- 
ico or  Munich  could  boast.  Ernesto's  mind  was  filled 
with  the  marvel  of  New  York. 

The  click  of  a  carriage  door  drew  his  eyes  to  the 
curb.  The  carriage  was  being  driven  away,  but 
hurrying  up  to  the  entrance,  her  long  skirt  gathered 
about  her,  a  wide  straw  hat  framing  her  face,  cheeks 
of  rose  pink,  dust-brown  hair  about  her  temples, 
gray  eyes  wide  and  wise,  a  girl  brushed  past,  so 
closely  that  her  sleeve  touched  him.  Only  one 
second  and  she  was  gone,  but  the  gray  eyes  had 
looked  straight  into  his,  and  he  felt  that  the  most 
beautiful  girl  in  America  was  hurrying  into  the 
Grand  Central  Station. 

"  Shine,  Mister? "  cried  a  bootblack  at  his  elbow 
as  he  passed. 

"  'Gad,  they  did  shine,"  he  answered  absently. 

Then  he  swore  a  little,  for,  of  a  sudden,  the  sun- 
38 


When  the  Brave  Meets  the  Fair 

shine  all  went  back  into  the  clouds,  and  Ernesto  was 
again  in  the  Forest  of  Despair.  For  Ernesto  was 
twenty-one,  and  the  woes  of  the  world  are  very  cut- 
ting when  one  is  twenty-one. 

When  Ernesto  got  back  to  the  hotel  he  was  much 
calmer.  For  although  the  vivid  flash  of  those  won- 
derful gray  eyes,  the  surprise,  the  understanding  in 
the  instant's  greeting  had  startled  him,  and  the 
touch  of  her  sleeve  as  she  passed  sent  the  blood 
dancing  through  his  veins,  there  was  the  chilling, 
deadening  sense  that  came  with  the  sober  second 
thought  that  until  his  father  had  been  found  he 
could  not  think  of  any  woman — and  particularly  of 
a  woman  like  the  girl  whom  he  had  seen 

He  opened  his  violin  case  and  fingered  the  instru- 
ment gently.  The  violin  and  the  little  mother  were 
all  that  he  had  in  the  world  to  love  and  cherish. 
And  the  soul  of  the  Mexican  boy  was  made  to  be  filled 
with  that  affection  which  had  been  denied  to  him 
all  his  life — except  from  the  little  mother  and  the 
violin — they  had  never  failed  him.  Standing  all 
alone  in  the  sunshiny  room,  he  began  to  play.  First, 
it  was  a  wild,  passionate  outburst — vengeance,  and 
fury,  and  rage — then,  of  a  sudden,  as  though  the 
imprecation  had  turned  to  pleading,   a  sad,   sweet 

29 


The  Letter  H 


wail  broke  from  the  instrument.  It  was  as  if  the 
violin  had  absorbed  the  story  of  the  man's  heart- 
aches from  the  touch  of  his  hands,  and  was  pouring 
out  its  sympathy  to  him. 

Ernesto  was  not  one,  but  two  people  that  morn- 
ing, and  a  battle  was  raging  between  them;  pas- 
sionate rage  on  the  one  side  and  tender  entreaty  on 
the  other.  The  frail  violin,  now  weird,  and  plain- 
tive, and  sad,  now  short,  sharp,  staccato,  told  the 
story  of  the  battle.  Finally,  he  lifted  the  violin 
from  his  shoulder,  kissed  it  softly  and  laid  it  away 
in  its  case — the  Mexican  in  him  was  conquered,  the 
sturdy,  independent  American  dominant. 

The  little  mother  in  the  next  room  had  listened 
to  it  all.  She  had  been  father  and  mother  to  the 
boy  ever  since  his  birth,  and  they  had  never  been 
parted.  She  had  taught  him  all  that  she  could  of 
what  she  had  learned  in  her  girlhood  days  at  the 
Spanish  convent;  and  for  the  rest,  he  had  picked  it 
up  on  their  journeys.  That  was  the  Yankee  in  him. 
Only  in  music  had  other  teachers  than  his  mother 
been  sought,  and  it  was  through  them  that  he  had 
been  brought  in  touch  with  the  better  people  whom 
they  had  known. 

Mme.  del  Tonjours  was  proud  of  the  boy.  Natu- 
80 


When  the  Brave  Meets  the  Fair 

rally,  she  saw  only  the  virtues  and  none  of  the  faults 
of  his  character.  None  knew  better  than  she  the 
treachery  and  baseness  that  could  lie  behind  a  hand- 
some face.  None  knew  better  than  she  what  kind 
of  a  man  Ernesto's  father  had  been.  But  the  evil 
she  could  not  deny  in  the  father  was  entirely  lack- 
ing in  the  make-up  of  the  son.  His  chief  fault  was 
a  tendency  to  vacillate,  which  often  got  the  better 
of  him.  He  was  half  Mexican,  half  American.  In- 
dolent at  times,  and  again  most  energetic.  By  turns 
passionate  and  unrestrained,  or  reserved  and  cold. 
Had  he  been  all  Mexican,  his  name  might  have  been 
famous  as  a  master  violinist  on  two  continents;  had 
he  been  all  American,  his  mother's  little  fortune 
would  have  been  the  stepping-stone  to  a  wider  future 
for  him.  But  he  was  neither,  and  the  union  of 
strength  and  weakness  in  his  nature  was  pathetic. 
There  were  possibilities  untold  in  his  character — 
but  they  were  only  possibilities. 

The  result  was  the  development  of  Ernesto  del 
Tonjours  from  a  boy  of  promise  into  a  man  whose 
ambition  came  and  went;  inciting  him  at  times  to 
great  things,  then  leaving  him  careless  and  indif- 
ferent. The  prophecies  of  the  masters  who  had 
taught  him  had  come  to  naught.     He  was  still  only 

81 


The  Letter  H 


a  travelling  violinist,  getting  an  engagement  when 
and  where  he  could.  Yet,  withal,  he  had  a  charm 
of  personality  which  drew  to  him  resistlessly  those 
with  whom  he  had  to  do,  and  which  made  his  mother 
blind  to  his  negative  traits. 

As  she  felt  the  thrilling  harmonies  of  the  violin, 
the  high-soaring  notes  and  then  the  sudden  minor 
chords,  she  wondered  what  new  experience  he  had 
had.  She  had  learned  to  know  every  tone  of  his 
violin  and  to  translate  its  stories  into  the  language 
of  her  own  heart.  When  the  big,  broad-shouldered 
fellow  stood  in  the  doorway  smiling  at  her,  she  knew 
instantly  that  in  the  battle  the  American  blood  had 
conquered  the  Mexican. 

"Yes?"  she  questioned,  with  an  indefinable  ac- 
cent, half  confessing  that  she  had  heard  and  inter- 
preted it  all,  and  half  asking  for  fuller  confidence. 

He  was  leaning  against  the  doorway,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  a  good-natured,  quizzical  smile  in  his 
eyes.  He  had  often  said  banteringly  that  when  he 
met  a  girl  as  pretty  and  as  gentle  and  as  lovable  as 
his  mother,  he  might  by  chance  fall  in  love;  and  as 
he  stood  looking  down  at  the  little  woman,  the  picture 
of  the  girl  he  had  seen  at  the  Grand  Central  Station 
came  before  his  mind's  eye.     He  found  this  picture 

32 


When  the  Brave  Meets  the  Fair 

eo  absorbing  that  he  forgot  to  answer  his  mother's 
query. 

"  Yes  ? "  she  repeated,  this  time  imperatively. 

He  slipped  into  the  place  beside  her  on  the  couch. 

"  Carina,"  he  began,  caressingly,  "  the  little 
mother  is  first,  ever  and  always." 

She  laughed  back  into  his  eyes. 

"  Listen  to  twenty-one,"  she  said  scofiingly. 
"  Yes  ?  "  It  was  wonderful  the  amount  of  feeling 
that  she  could  put  into  that  monosyllable.  "  The 
little  mother  is  first  ever  and  always — until — come, 
tell  me  about  her." 

"  There's  no  holding  a  secret  when  you're  about," 
he  said,  as  he  took  her  hand  and  stroked  it  gently. 
"  Well,  she's  pretty — and  she  burned  me  when  she 
passed,  if  that's  any  sign." 

"  A  sign,  merely,  that — the  matter  is  very  inconse- 
quential ;  I  think  she  is  only  a  passing  fancy." 

"  You  are  skeptical." 

"  None  has  more  cause  to  be,  my  son,"  said  the 
mother,  slowly ;  "  there's  an  old  English  song  that 
says, 

'  Love  me  little,  love  me  long.' 

The  love  that  burns  when  it  passes  you  will  soon  die 
out." 

88 


The  Letter  H 


The  Senora  let  her  dark  eyes  wander  past  the  boy 
and  out  of  the  window.  Wistfully  she  looked,  with- 
out seeing;  a  pathetic  droop  at  the  corners  of  her 
mouth. 

"  I  used  to  think,  like  you,  my  boy,"  she  said,  in  a 
voice  that  was  low  and  that  trembled  with  emotion, 
"  that  love  was  some  great  power  which  would  do 
wonderful  things  for  us — make  us  happy  and  con- 
tented. I  used  to  think  that  it  was  worth  an  eternity 
of  tears  to  love  as  we  loved,  your  father  and  I;  that 
love  was  all,  and  the  rest — our  friends,  our  families 
— nothing.  It  was  a  foolish  poet  that  wrote,  '  "lis 
better  to  have  loved  and  lost  than  never  to  have 
loved  at  all.'  You  called  me  skeptical  a  moment  ago. 
Why  shouldn't  I  be  ?  My  love  has  made  me  a  wan- 
derer upon  the  face  of  the  earth.  Twenty  years  of 
tears,  and  regret,  and  remorse,  have  almost  wiped 
out  the  memory  of  the  few  months  of  happiness. 
My  friends  are  gone,  my  family  gone — treachery, 
fraud,  and  neglect,  have  been  my  portion.  Ernesto, 
you  are  all  I  have.  The  love  I  bore  your  father  died 
long  ago.  You  are  all  that  binds  me  to  earth  and 
keeps  alive  in  me  the  thought  that  I  am  a  woman  and 
a  mother." 

The  pathetic,  small  face  was  flushed,  the  wistful 
84 


Wlien  the  Brave  Meets  the  Fair 

eyes  angry,  the  body  intense  and  strained.  The  pas- 
sion of  her  Spanish  ancestors  was  centred  in  Mme. 
del  Tonjours.  The  world  had  been  very  hard  to  the 
little  woman,  but  it  had  failed  to  crush  her ;  and  her 
passionate  nature  was  in  but  little  more  restraint 
than  when,  as  a  girl,  in  the  old  days,  love  had  led  her 
on;  alluring  her  to  phantom  fields  of  happiness  and 
content. 

"  Ernesto,"  she  said,  "  will  you  promise  me  that 
nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  will  make  you  forget 
your  vow  to  find  your  father  ?  " 

She  looked  with  deep  scrutiny  at  the  young  fellow, 
who  had  paled  under  the  passion  of  her  outburst. 

"  Mother,  I  promised  you  that  five  years  ago  when 
we  began  the  search.  Do  you  think  I  would  fail  you 
now?" 

"  No,  dear ;  I  just  wanted  your  promise  again. 
We  women  must  have  things  told  us  again  and  again, 
just  to  keep  us  content." 

After  a  little  silence,  she  went  on  briskly: 

"  We  must  be  up  and  doing  if  we  mean  to  accom- 
plish anything  at  all  this  summer.  Our  success,  or 
rather  your  success,  has  made  me  hope  for  better 
things." 

"  Was  it  success  ?  "  Ernesto  asked  indifferently. 
85 


The  Letter  H 


"  I  didn't  notice.  I  know  it  was  infernally  stupid, 
and  I'm  downright  glad  the  season  is  over." 

"  May  not  Kingsland  take  you  next  year  as  second 
violin  ?  "  the  mother  asked. 

"  I  think  not,"  was  the  response.  "  I  saw  Kings- 
land  last  night,  and  told  him  I  wasn't  making  any 
plans  for  next  season." 

"  Ernesto !  how  foolish  of  you.  It  would  mean  a 
steady  position  for  the  season." 

"  That's  just  what  I  don't  want.  I  think  I'd 
rather  be  on  the  move." 

"  That's  generous,  I'm  sure,"  was  the  rather  bitter 
remark  that  the  woman  could  not  suppress. 

"  You  might  better  be  a  bit  uncomfortable  travel- 
ling than  attempt  to  put  up  with  me  when  I  am  not 
satisfied." 

"  True  enough,"  said  the  mother,  "  but  I'm  not  as 
young  as  I  was  once,  and  it  seems  unfair  in  you  to 
t  make  me  endure  more  than  is  necessary." 

"  But  the  excitement,  mother !  You  know  you 
like  it  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  That  last  Western  trip  was  all  I  wanted." 

Mme.  del  Tonjours  leaned  back  on  the  couch,  a 
flicker  of  amusement  in  her  expression  chasing  away 
the  look  of  half  sullen  anger  which  had  been  there. 


When  the  Brave  Meets  the  Fair 

"  Will  you  ever  forget,  Ernesto  ? "  she  asked, 
laughing.  "  We  can  laugh  about  it  now,  but  it  was 
far  from  funny  then.  There  we  were  in  Chicago, 
you  with  a  valet,  and  I  with  a  maid ;  and  by  the  time 
we  got  to  St.  Louis  we  were  walking  to  save  car  fare." 

Ernesto's  laugh  rang  out  cheerily. 

"  And  who  wouldn't  go  through  it  all  again  ?  " 

The  mother  smiled  and  sighed. 

"  Perhaps  if  I  were  young,"  she  said,  "  I  might 
choose  it  too,  Ernesto;  but  unless  assured  that  it  was 
coming  out  all  right,  I  would  infinitely  prefer  a 
second-rate  boarding-house  in  some  out-of-the-way 
place  and  a  release  from  worry." 

"  You  shall  not  worry  any  more  than  I  can  help," 
said  the  boy. 

"  But  you  can't  help  it,  dear,  until  your  father  is 
found." 

"  We'll  start  out  on  the  hotel  routes  as  soon  as  the 
season  opens,"  he  cried  enthusiastically. 

Mme.  del  Tonjours  leaned  forward  eagerly.  "  The 
hotels  are  open  now,"  she  said. 

"  Then  we  will  start  as  soon  as  you  can  get  ready. 
Have  you  any  idea  where  we  shall  begin  ?  " 

"  I  have  it  all  planned,"  she  cried.  "  We  can  start 
at  Saratoga  and  work  up  past  Lake  George  into  the 

87 


The  Letter  H 


Adirondacks,  then  over  the  Green  Mountains  and 
into  New  Hampshire.  Of  course,  if  luck  favors  us, 
we  shall  not  need  to  move  fast." 

"  But  the  season  at  Saratoga  has  not  really  begun 
in  June,"  said  Ernesto.  "  Would  it  not  be  wiser  to 
start  with  some  of  the  Hudson  River  towns ;  to  which 
summer  boarders  go  early  and  stay  late,  and  work 
from  there  up  through  the  Catskills,  and  so  on  ? " 

After  much  discussion  it  was  so  arranged.  They 
had  no  one  to  consider  but  themselves ;  had  lived  for 
years  with  trunk  and  valises,  and  the  matter  of  prep- 
aration was  soon  done.  Early  the  next  week  they 
started  out  on  their  journey. 


CHAPTEK  ni 


FROM   A   FAB   OOUNTEY 


A  brisk  breeze  was  lashing  the  waves;  flags  were 
flapping  noisily  on  the  masts ;  and  the  big  ocean  liner, 
the  Altruria,  was  ploughing  resistlessly  over  the 
waterways.  Two  women,  one  young  and  pretty,  the 
other  older  and  most  distinguished  looking,  stood 
near  the  rail.  Their  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  west- 
ern horizon  as  though  expecting  to  see  the  land  rise 
up  out  of  the  misty  distance  at  any  moment. 

The  younger  was  holding  with  her  left  hand  a  gray 
Tarn  o'  Shanter,  while  the  wind  tossed  wisps  of  brown 
hair  across  her  forehead  and  over  her  cheeks  and  up 
over  her  cap.  She  made  a  sweet  picture  as  she  stood 
there  in  the  wind,  with  her  trim,  stylish  travelling 
suit,  her  cheeks  glowing,  and  her  eyes  sparkling. 
There  were  approving  glances  thrown  at  her  all  along 
the  line  of  steamer  chairs,  and  people  laid  down  their 
books  and  magazines  to  watch  her.  There  was  some- 
thing winning  about  her,  and  her  fresh,  girlish 
beauty  had  won  admirers  from  the  first  day  out  from 
Liverpool. 


The  Letter  H 


"  Aunt  Lenore,"  she  said  to  the  older  woman, 
"  one  more  day  and  we  shall  be  at  home." 

There  was  emphasis  on  the  word  "  home,"  and  as 
she  said  it,  it  seemed  almost  sacred. 

"  Our  pilgrimage  seems  longer  now  than  ever," 
said  the  lady. 

"  I  wish  we  had  come  home  long  ago,"  said  the 
girl,  with  a  suggestion  of  contrition  in  her  voice.  "  It 
seems  almost  wicked  to  have  left  poor  papa  alone  all 
this  time.  How  lonely  the  old  house  must  be  with- 
out us !  " 

"  There's  conceit  for  you,"  remarked  Miss  Clifton 
laughingly. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  young  woman,  smiling,  "  it  did 
sound  conceited,  didn't  it?  But  you  know  what  I 
meant.     It  would  be  lonely  without  you." 

"  Thank  you,  dear.  It  would  indeed  be  lonesome 
without  you." 

The  girl  turned  her  glance  out  over  the  endless 
stretch  of  sea.  For  days  the  good  ship  had  been 
ploughing  the  green  waters,  and  for  days  the  infinite 
silence  and  the  great  emptiness  of  the  sea  had  exer- 
cised an  irresistible  fascination  over  her.  Her  life 
seemed  one  with  the  wide,  limitless  ocean  with  its 
tumultuous  tossing,  its  ever-restless,  never-ending 
struggle  to  be  at  peace. 

40 


From  a  Far  Country 


"  Auntie,"  said  the  girl,  softly,  after  a  long  pause, 
"  how  wonderful  the  sea  is !  How  infinite  !  Do  you 
know,  that  one  word  means  more  to  me  than  any 
other  word  in  any  language;  just  as  the  sea  means 
more  than  any  other  thing.  It  is  full  of  everything. 
Here,"  she  waved  her  hand  toward  the  horizon,  "  it 
is  infinite.  Here,"  and  she  motioned  again  to  the 
blue  sky  where  the  billowy  cumuli  drifted  on  and  on, 
"  it  is  infinite.  It  is  never  ending;  it  is  without 
bounds,  limitless,  eternal,  infinite.  It  comes  near 
showing  us  the  nature  of  God,  for  God  is  infinite." 

She  put  her  hands  on  the  rail  and  let  her  eyes  rest 
on  the  horizon,  where  the  sky  met  the  sea  and  the 
beginning  of  the  world  seemed  to  be.  Her  aunt  gave 
her  a  swift  look,  tinged  with  apprehension,  but  dis- 
creetly refrained  from  speaking. 

"  When  I  look  out  over  the  sea,  or  at  the  sky,  I 
seem  to  shrink  all  up.  I  wonder  if  God  put  me 
where  I  was  meant  to  go?  I  wonder  if  he  didn't- 
mean  me  to  be  one  of  the  workers  and  to  help  push 
the  great  world  on — I  wonder  if  he  really  meant  me 
to  be  Doras  Harlington  ?  " 

The  girl  stopped,  breathless,  her  face  flushed  and 
\\or  eyes  shining  brightly  from  under  their  long 
lashes.  But  the  face  of  the  woman  beside  her 
clouded  with  anxiety. 

41 


The  Letter  H 


"I  do  not  believe  that  He  made  a  mistake/'  she 
said  softly,  though  in  her  heart  she  was  wondering, 
if,  indeed,  He  had. 

The  voyage  had  been  a  fair  one,  and  on  this  last 
evening  but  few  of  the  places  at  the  table  were  un- 
occupied. Although  Miss  Harlington  was  young  in 
the  matter  of  years,  she  had  travelled  extensively; 
and  as  the  daughter  of  General  Harlington,  had  been 
received  everywhere.  These  circumstances,  added 
to  a  naturally  fearless  nature,  had  resulted  in  giving 
the  girl  a  distinction  of  manner  which,  even  for  an 
American  girl,  was  quite  remarkable. 

A  United  States  Senator  and  his  wife,  returning 
from  the  Lake  Country  in  England,  sat  opposite  to 
her;  and  on  her  left  was  a  young  collegian  just  get- 
ting back  from  a  two  years'  trip  through  France  and 
Germany.  Beside  Miss  Clifton  was  a  stagey  person 
whose  photograph  had  been  blazoned  in  all  the  Amer- 
ican journals  the  year  before,  when  she  had  figured 
as  divorcee  in  a  sensational  case,  and  who  was  now 
relying  on  the  notoriety  this  had  given  her  for  ad- 
vertisement. A  slender,  dark-faced  violinist  and  his 
wife,  and  several  tourists,  and  a  number  of  plain 
business  men  were  also  at  this  table.  A  young  ed- 
itor, whose  white  hair  contrasted  well  with  his  fresh, 

42 


From  a  Far  Country 


ruddy  complexion,  had  the  place  to  the  left  of  the 
Senator's  wife,  and  between  courses,  told  of  the 
varied  experiences  of  a  newspaper  man,  both  as 
editor  and  reporter. 

"  To  my  mind,"  said  he,  after  the  soup  had  been 
removed,  "  there  is  no  task  so  utterly  thankless  as 
that  of  an  editor  or  a  reporter." 

"  The  editors  are  all  right,"  said  the  Senator,  with 
a  little  shrug,  "  but  the  reporters — Lord  help  'em ! 
They  do  more  mischief  with  their  everlasting  stories 
than  a  herd  of  wild  steers  let  loose  in  a  city." 

The  editor,  whose  face  was  pleasant  and  frank, 
glanced  sharply  at  his  neighbor;  and  then,  breaking 
his  roll  into  pieces,  said  with  decision — for  he  had 
just  remembered  something  about  this  Senator : — "  I 
think  you  do  us  an  injustice." 

The  Senator  flushed :  "  You  mistook  my  meaning. 
I  include  in  that  class  only  the  reporters." 

Travis  was  never  so  happy  as  when  given  a  chance 
to  stand  up  for  his  men. 

"  You  forget,  Senator  Baldwin,"  he  said,  "  that 
the  majority  of  editors  began  life  merely  as  reporters 
and  that  without  reporters  there  would  be  no  news- 
papers, and  that  without  newspapers  there  would  be 
no  progress.     The  good  done  for  mankind  by  report- 

43 


The  Letter  H 


ers,  banked  up  against  the  harm,  is  as  the  blue  ocean 
against  a  lily  pond." 

Travis  smiled  again,  a  seemingly  inconsequential 
smile,  but  it  meant  that  he  had  recalled  a  certain 
newspaper  story  about  Senator  Baldwin,  and  that  he 
had  managed  to  get  in  a  word  for  his  men.  But  the 
smile,  which  sat  well  on  a  wide  mouth,  and  better 
still  in  a  pair  of  laughing  blue  eyes,  caught  a  reflec- 
tion in  the  sweet  face  of  the  girl  almost  opposite. 
Travis  was  nearer  forty  than  twenty,  but  the  quick 
intelligence  of  the  glance  arrested  his  attention. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  said  the  girl,  softly,  in  a  low, 
sweet  voice  that  had  a  trick  of  taking  unto  itself 
certain  unexpected  little  accents,  "  it  is  wonderful 
what  you  editors  and  reporters  do  for  us.  What  a 
very  bare,  dull  world  it  would  be  if  there  were  no 
newspapers." 

The  girl  looked  over  at  the  Senator's  little  wife, 
who  was  as  insignificant  in  appearance  as  her  hus- 
band was  imposing. 

"  We  can  but  admit  that,"  she  said;  "  think  of  the 
fads  and  fashions  they  tell  about,"  and  she  smiled  at 
Doras. 

"  And  the  ghost  stories,"  ventured  one  of  the  com- 
mercial travellers,  eager  to  be  in  the  conversation 
with  the  Senator  and  Travis. 

44 


From  a  Far  Country 


"  And  the  scandals,"  the  actress  added  as  her  con- 
tribution. 

"  And  the  elections,"  suggested  the  European 
salesman,  looking  at  Baldwin  for  approval. 

"  And  les  critiques,"  said  the  slim  violinist,  with 
a  shrug. 

"  For  my  part,"  remarked  Dorus,  "  I  have  a  per- 
sonal debt  to  pay  them.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  seeing 
the  dear  old  names  and  the  dear  old  places  in  print, 
I  should  have  died  of  homesickness  long  ago." 

"  And  I,  too,  enjoyed  them,"  said  Miss  Clifton. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Travis,  laughing.  "  This  is 
like  so  many  wedding  presents,  or  Christmas  gifts,  or 
bouquets." 

Afterwards,  when  the  starry  night  took  the  place 
of  the  sunset  glory,  and  the  passengers  assembled  in 
the  cabin  to  listen  to  the  music  and  to  chat  sociably, 
Dorus  slipped  away  from  her  aunt,  who  was  gossip- 
ping  innocently  with  the  Senator's  wife,  and  went 
swiftly  up  the  passage,  and  out  on  deck.  It  was 
quite  abandoned  and  she  went  far  forward  to  the 
place  below  the  bridge,  and  leaned  over  the  railing. 
With  her  hands  holding  fast,  she  looked  intently  up 
into  the  sky.  One  who  has  been  out  on  the  broad 
sea,  alone  with  the  ship  in  the  midst  of  space,  with  a 

45 


The  Letter  H 


million  stars  more  or  less  looking  down  and  the  soft 
flapping  of  the  waves  coming  up  out  of  the  stillness, 
may  know  how  Dorus  Harlington  felt  standing  there 
alone.  Immigrants  in  the  steerage  have  stood 
speechless  with  awe,  in  the  silence  and  the  glory  of 
a  moonless  night  at  sea;  writers  have  prayed  to  a 
hundred  gods,  for  the  power  to  translate  the  unutter- 
able longing  of  the  twinkling  firmament  and  the 
restlessness  of  the  ocean;  poets  have  felt,  in  the  won- 
der of  its  immensity,  things  there  is  no  language  to 
express; — and  its  unthinkable  majesty  wrapped 
Dorus  Harlington,  sensitive,  imaginative,  in  a  spell 
of  unexplained  longing,  of  hope  unaccountable. 

"  So  you  like  to  be  alone."  It  was  a  practical, 
every-day  voice  that  startled  her  from  her  dreams. 

"  I  don't  think  I  was  alone,"  gravely. 

"  One's  thoughts  are  good  company,  sometimes." 

"  One's  thoughts  can't  help  being  good  company 
here." 

She  had  put  the  jaunty  little  Tarn  o'  Shanter  on 
her  head,  and  had  thrown  on  a  golf  cape.  Travis 
leaned  over  the  rail  beside  her,  the  romance  of  the 
night  and  the  stars  in  his  eyes. 

"  You're  right  there,"  he  said  in  response  to  her 
half-whispered  statement.  "  What  an  imaginative 
child  you  are,"  he  finished,  abruptly. 

46 


From  a  Far  Country 


"  I  ?  Imaginative  \ n  she  turned  to  him,  laughing. 
"  It's  only  on  occasion.  You  must  pinch  me  or  prick 
me  when  you  see  any  of  the  symptoms  approaching. 
It's  unwholesome,  I  fear;  and  yet,  even  you,  though 
you  claim  you  are  not  imaginative,  are  impressed  by 
this." 

"  One  must  needs  be  a  worse  than  senseless  thing 
not  to  feel  the  majesty  and  beauty  of  it,"  answered 
Travis,  though  he  had  not  taken  his  eyes  from  the 
girl's  face. 

"  And  to  think  that  this  is  the  last  night  of  it !  " 
he  sighed.  "  It  almost  makes  me  feel  like  going 
back  to  Europe." 

"  Ye-es,"  answered  Dorus,  "  but  I'm  going  home. 
We  live  on  the  Hudson,  you  know,  and  that  is  more 
beautiful  than  anything  I  saw  in  Europe." 

"  Well,  after  careful  deliberation,"  the  man  said 
seriously,  "  I  guess  Park  Row  and  City  Hall  Park 
strike  me  as  being  about  as  wonderful  as  anything 
over  yonder,"  waving  his  hand  back  towards  the  east. 

"  How  lovely  that  was  of  you  to  speak  so  at  the 
table,"  the  girl  was  looking  directly  at  him. 

"  Lovely  ?  It  tickled  me  to  pieces  to  get  back  at 
Baldwin.  I  forgot  that  he  was  mixed  up  in  that 
mining  deal,  until  he  inadvertently  reminded  me  of  it 

47 


The  Letter  H 


when  we  were  speaking.  By  the  way,  that  was  jolly 
of  you  to  say  what  you  did  about  the  newspapers 
keeping  you  from  being  homesick." 

Dorus  was  still  leaning  on  the  rail,  and  the  wind 
was  blowing  cold  over  the  sea.  She  drew  her  cape 
closely  about  her  and  pushed  the  big  hood  over  her 
head. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  liked  to  read  about  my 
friends,  and  if  they  weren't  mentioned; — and  they 
weren't  very  often, — I  just  like  to  read  about  New 
York,  and  Albany,  and  Washington,  and  Boston.  So 
long  as  it  was  America  I  was  reading  about,  I  was 
satisfied,  with  all  the  outlandish  German  papers  and 
the  French  things.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  we  used 
to  sing  an  old  hymn,  Auntie  and  I,  about  not  missing 
the  violets,  and  the  summer,  and  the  birds,  until  they 
were  gone.  Well,  after  we  got  away  from  home, 
where  it  is  so  beautiful  and  quiet,  I  missed  it  so ; — I 
never  fully  appreciated  it  until  I  left  it;  and — well, 
I'm  so  glad  I'm  going  back." 

Travis  knew  she  was  General  Harlington's  daugh- 
ter; and  now,  before  the  voyage  was  over,  he 
wanted  to  find  out  the  truth  of  a  certain  rumor  that 
he  had  heard  before  he  knew  her. 

"  You  won't  forget  to  ask  me  to  your  wedding," 
48 


From  a  Far  Country 


he  said  softly.  The  effect  on  the  girl  of  this  appar- 
ently simple  question  was  all  he  needed  for  an 
answer.  Her  shoulders  straightened,  her  head  went 
back,  and  her  voice  was  decidedly  haughty  as  she 
answered : 

"  I  might,  if  you  even  mention  it  again." 

A  moment  later,  they  went  back  to  the  saloon. 
Travis,  with  his  instinct  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  things 
awake  and  guessing,  was  back  on  the  deck  again  a 
little  later,  whistling  softly  to  himself : 

"  So  the  land  lies  there.  I  had  heard  the  rumor, 
and  I  suppose  she  doesn't  like  it  for  a  cent.  Heigh 
ho !  she's  worth  the  winning,  but,  by  George,  I  don't 
envy  the  man  that  tries  to  tame  her.  I'll  keep  my 
eye  on  the  story,  as  old  Baily  used  to  tell  me  to 
"  Keep  me  eye  on  me  precinct." 

The  next  morning  presaged  one  of  the  brightest 
of  June  days — clear  sky,  blue  sea,  and  the  air  soft 
and  warm.  The  AUruria  sighted  Fire  Island  early 
in  the  morning;  and,  about  noon,  she  swung  in  be- 
tween the  big  forts  on  the  Narrows.  The  guns 
guarding  the  entrance  to  the  port,  the  green  terraces 
of  Wadsworth  and  Hamilton  and  picturesque  La- 
fayette, glistened  and  shone  in  the  June  sunshine, 
as  the  steamer  sailed  majestically  up  towards  the 

49 


The  Letter  H 


dock.  All  the  passengers  were  on  the  deck.  Well 
forward  on  the  landing  side  was  a  little  group  that 
included  Miss  Clifton  and  her  niece,  Travis,  and  the 
Senator  with  his  wife.  There  was  silence  for  awhile, 
as  Liberty  grew  every  moment  more  distinct,  and  the 
shaggy  skyline  of  the  city  came  nearer.  Miss  Clif- 
ton lifted  her  hand  and  pointed  towards  the  ragged 
line  of  skyscrapers. 

"  The  most  beautiful  city  in  the  world,"  she  said 
softly.  Her  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  place  where 
the  city  lay  shining  in  the  sunshine.  It  seemed  set 
within  a  charmed  circle,  and  all  about  it  the  blue 
waters  were  dancing.  On  both  the  East  and  the 
ISTorth  River  hundreds  of  boats,  ships  and  schooners, 
sailboats  and  tugboats,  and  ferryboats  without  num- 
ber, hurried  hither  and  thither;  making  a  never-to- 
be-forgotten  picture  of  bustle  and  life. 

"  The  most  beautiful  city  in  the  world,"  repeated 
Travis,  after  a  pause. 

Then  Dorus  stepped  forward,  her  face  glowing, 
her  eyes  shining,  her  whole  body  tense  with  emotion; 
and  in  her  fresh,  sweet  voice,  started  the  anthem — 

"  My  country  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, 
Of  thee  I  sing." 
50 


From  a  Far  Country 


When  the  little  tugs  had  pulled  the  great  steamer, 
like  some  mighty  hulk,  about  in  the  river,  and  had 
hauled  her  slowly  into  her  place  in  the  slip;  when 
handkerchiefs  were  fluttering  to  answering  handker- 
chiefs, the  passengers  made  ready  to  land.  Doras, 
the  bonny  little  gray  Tarn  o'  Shanter  supplanted  by 
a  hat  of  conventional  design ;  her  slim  figure  gowned 
in  a  tailor-made  suit  of  blue,  stood  beside  her  aunt 
holding  the  rail.  Both  were  watching  the  people  on 
the  pier.  Both  knew  that  no  friends  of  theirs  were 
waiting  for  them,  for  they  were  several  hours  before 
the  time  they  had  expected  to  arrive. 

There  was  one  other  person  aboard  the  Altruria 
who  had  no  friends  awaiting  his  arrival.  Travis 
stood  in  such  a  position  that  Doras  Harlington  and 
her  aunt  came  between  his  eyes  and  the  swarming 
people  on  the  pier.  He  was  watching  the  girl  in- 
tently yet  covertly,  as  he  had  been  watching  her — 
studying  her  ever  since  the  first  day  out  from  Liver- 
pool. She  was  a  type  he  had  never  met  before.  Al- 
though far  from  being  one  of  the  tiresome  class  who 
think  they  know  all  girls,  yet  he  met  and  talked  with 
many  in  many  different  positions  in  life,  and  he  felt 
that  at  least  he  could  judge  a  woman  with  discrimina- 
tion.    But  Doras  Harlington  baffled  him.     He  shook 

51 


The  Letter  H 


his  head  in  perplexity.  There  was  something  about 
her  indescribably  charming,  but  in  this  charm  was  a 
bit  of  the  unexplainable — a  trifle  of  something  that 
was  mysterious. 

From  the  waving  brown  of  the  girl's  hair,  the  soft 
curve  of  her  cheek  and  chin,  the  upward  tilt  of  her 
nose,  the  shadow  of  her  lashes,  Travis  drank  in  every 
detail,  then  turned  to  the  aunt  for  comparison. 

Lenore  Clifton  had  never  been  beautiful,  even 
under  the  sunny,  southern  skies  that  make  the  bril- 
liant beauty  in  Creole  girls  and  kill  it  in  Creole 
women.  But,  in  the  curves  of  the  face,  the  waves  of 
the  hair,  Travis  traced  a  family  resemblance.  In  the 
elder  there  was  the  dignity  of  maturity.  Lenore 
Clifton  was  the  kind  of  woman  that  keeps  the  world 
poised.  She  was  not  a  society  light  and  belonged  to 
no  clubs ;  but  in  her  quiet  way,  she  helped  make  those 
about  her  glad  of  their  lives. 

Travis  wondered  how  many  years  would  pass  be- 
fore the  real  Dorus  would  wake  up,  and  her  mysteri- 
ous charm  be  explained.  It  was  not  as  though  she 
were  conscious  of  something  which  she  lacked;  nor 
did  she  seem  to  be  aware  of  her  peculiar  expression, 
— it  was  a  look  of  expectation,  longing,  even  of  sus- 
pense ;  and  the  chance  observer  might  say  it  was  dis- 
satisfaction. 


From  a  Far  Country 


Travis,  whose  interest  in  the  rumor  that  she  was 
pledged  to  marry  the  man  to  whom  her  father  had 
promised  her  in  her  infancy,  was  only  deepened  by 
the  episode  of  the  night  before,  watched  her  face 
through  the  blue  smoke  of  his  cigar. 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  I'm  in  love  with  her,"  he  said 
to  himself ;  "  but  she'd  drive  me  to  smoking  cigar- 
ettes if  she  wore  that  look  on  her  face  all  the  time. 
I'll  be  further  hanged  if  I  wouldn't  like  to  know 
what  it  means.  She's  too  young  to  have  a  past,  but 
she  certainly  looks  as  though  she  had  something  on 
her  mind.  Heigh  ho !  "  he  said,  as  he  flipped  the 
cigar  into  the  water,  "  if  they  ask  me  to  come  and  see 
them,  I'll  go." 

And  they  did. 

Dorus  and  her  aunt  took  a  carriage,  driving  im- 
mediately to  the  Grand  Central  Station,  whence  they 
went  by  rail  to  Harlington  Hall  on  the  Hudson. 


58 


CHAPTEK  IV 


PRISONERS  OF   FATE 


What  pen  could  describe  Dorus,  raptures  as  they 
journeyed  up  the  Hudson,  or  the  delight  that  greeted 
the  arrival  of  the  two  ladies  at  Harlington  Hall  on 
the  afternoon  of  the  day  the  Altruria  reached  port. 
A  telegram  from  the  city  had  apprised  the  General 
of  their  coming,  and  although  he  was  a  trifle  annoyed 
that  they  were  forced  to  see  to  their  own  luggage, 
and  take  the  long  railway  journey  with  no  other 
attendant  than  their  maid,  yet  even  this  was  for- 
gotten in  the  pleasure  of  the  reunion. 

Dorus  was  still  clinging  to  her  father  in  the  first 
close  embrace,  when  in  from  the  kitchen  came  the 
colored  mammy  who  had  nursed  her  when  she  was 
born  in  old  New  Orleans;  and  who  had  come  north 
with  the  family.  She  could  not  leave  the  child,  even 
though  she  knew  that  the  turning-point  of  the  war 
had  come,  and  that  she  would  be  free.  She  stood 
for  a  moment,  her  face  wreathed  in  smiles,  her  ample 
proportions  filling  the  doorway.  Dorus  saw  her  and 
flew  to  her  with  wide  arms. 

54 


Prisoners  of  Fate 


"  Saida !  Saida !  "  she  cried,  "  I'm  so  glad  to  be 
home." 

"  Fo'  de  sake  o'  de  Ian',"  cried  Saida,  the  big  tears 
in  her  eyes,  as  she  folded  the  motherless  girl  to  her 
heart,  "  de  stray  lamb  is  come  back  to  de  fol'.  Bress 
de  Lor',  oh  ma  soul,  de  chile's  come  back  to  her  ole 
mammy  Saida." 

"  Didn't  you  think  that  I  could  take  care  of  her  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Clifton,  smilingly,  as  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  the  negress. 

"Lor',  chile,  dar  cyant  nobody  take  care  o'  Miss 
Dorus  lak'  her  mammy.  I  reckon  she's  needed  me  a 
heap  worse'n  I've  needed  her,  though  'twas  moughty 
lonesome  in  dis  yere  big  house  thout  you  uns  both. 
Bress  her  pretty  face,  ain'  she  a  pictur'  ?  " 

Saida's  black  face  shone  with  pride.  Like  the 
majority  of  colored  people  who  had  been  slaves,  her 
devotion  to  the  family  was  inviolable.  The  family 
which  she  served  was  to  her  next  to  her  God,  and 
she  would  have  gone  through  fire  and  water  for  any 
one  of  them. 

"  Ain'  she  de  libin  image  ob  her  ma,  po'  lady. 
How  she  would  hab  gloried  in  de  li'P  gal  now." 

There  was  a  shuffling  of  feet  in  the  room  behind 
the  library,  and  then  a  voice  issued : 

65 


The  Letter  H 


"  Saida  I  Saida !  w-where  yo'  good  f  o'  nuthin' 
gone  ? " 

The  voice  was  full  and  rich,  and  stumbled  plain- 
tively over  the  first  syllables.  Dorus  laughed  gaily, 
and  then  called :  "  Luke,  oh  Luke !  * 

Immediately  a  black  face  and  curly  black  head 
appeared  at  the  door,  followed  by  a  big,  broad- 
shouldered  fellow  of  some  forty  years,  more  or  less. 
Over  his  face  a  slow  smile  broke.  The  mouth  wid- 
ened, the  eyes  brightened,  and  then  the  grin  stretched 
from  ear  to  ear.  He  came  forward,  stuttering,  and 
scarcely  able  to  do  more  than  smile — but  such  a 
smile!  If  Luke  were  dumb,  his  smile  would  speak 
for  him: 

"  W-w-well,  de  good  Lor7  reserve  us !  " 

"  You  haven't  lost  your  stammer,  Luke,"  said 
Dorus. 

"  No — praise  de  Lor',"  replied  Luke,  reverently. 

"  Now  that  I've  seen  Luke  and  Saida,  I  know  that 
I'm  at  home,"  cried  Dorus,  when  the  laugh  had  sub- 
sided. "  How  are  the  boys  ?  "  she  continued,  turn- 
ing to  Saida  again. 

"  Bof  bloomin'  lak  de  roses  ob  Sharon,"  answered 
the  black,  with  motherly  pride. 

"Really?"  said  the  girl,  delightedly.  "The 
angels !  where  are  they  ?  " 

56 


Prisoners  of  Fate 


The  "  angels  "  were  pocket  editions  of  their  father 
— tightly  curled  hair,  big,  round,  black  eyes,  flat 
noses,  round,  puify  cheeks,  and  Luke's  own  smile. 

Mirth-provoking  the  pair  were,  clinging  to  each 
side  of  their  mother,  and  forced  reluctantly  into  the 
awe-inspiring  presence  of  the  master  and  the  newly- 
arrived  mistress.  Peal  after  peal  of  laughter  rang 
from  Dorus,  while  Miss  Clifton  and  the  General 
smiled,  not  so  much  at  the  picture  of  the  two 
"  angels,"  as  from  the  infection  of  the  girl's  merri- 
ment. 

Dorus  was  Southern  at  heart,  though  the  summers 
and  the  winters  that  had  passed  over  her  head  were 
Northern  summers  and  winters;  and  she  took  the 
constant  companionship  of  negroes  with  the  accus- 
tomed carelessness  of  the  real  Southern  girl.  The 
two  boys  were  to  her  like  dolls,  to  be  loved,  admired, 
and  petted;  but  in  no  measure  to  be  considered  in  the 
same  class  with  herself.  So  the  two  little  curly- 
headed  chaps  were  treated  as  a  child  might  treat 
some  new  mechanical  toy. 

"  You  shall  be  my  little  pages,"  Dorus  cried  joy- 
ously, "  to  wait  on  me  always.  Come,"  she  said 
laughing,  "  I've  just  the  things  for  you  to  wear  to 
make  you  the  dearest  little  pages  in  Christendom." 

57 


The  Letter  H 


She  took  each  small  and  unwilling  page  by  the 
hand,  and  ran,  laughing,  out  on  the  porch. 

"  Moughty  fine  gal,"  said  Luke. 

"  Sho',"  said  the  woman,  "  she  couldn't  help  bern* 
nothin'  else,  coz  she  wuz  Miss  Dorus'  own  liT  gal." 

"  Lor',"  said  Luke,  enthusiastically,  "  I  thought 
'twas  the  dead  come  ter  life  when  I  seed  her  a- 
holdin'  on  ter  ma  babies  lak  she  loved  'em  sho  nuff. 
She's  her  mother  all  over  agin." 

Luke  still  expatiating  on  the  likeness  of  Dorus  to 
her  mother  shuffled  into  the  kitchen,  followed  by  nis 
wife.  As  the  ringing  laugh  came  back  through  the 
open  door  from  the  porch  where  Dorus  was  learning 
the  peculiar  virtues  of  her  new  toys,  General  Har- 
lington  turned  to  Miss  Clifton : 

"  Do  you  hear  that  laugh,  Lenore  ?  What  a  merry, 
light-hearted  girl  she  is !  How  she  will  brighten  up 
this  old  house,  where  I  have  seen  so  many  desolate 
days  since  she — since  you  both  went  away." 

"  That  sounds  better,"  said  Miss  Clifton,  smiling 
back  at  the  General;  "  of  course  you  have  missed  me 
as  well  as  Dorus." 

"  I  did,  Lenore,"  the  General  averred,  soberly, 
"  but  my  loss  was  my  daughter's  gain,  and  that  recon- 
ciled me  to  the  double  deprivation.     But,  seriously, 

58 


Prisoners  of  Fate 


Lenore,  you  are  not  worried  about  her  at  all,  are 
you?" 

"  No !  no !  indeed.  May  Heaven  grant  that  the 
curse  will  be  averted !  "  and  Miss  Clifton  looked 
anxiously  at  the  girl's  father. 

"  Amen,"  he  said  softly. 

"  So  speaks  the  loving  father's  heart,"  said  Lenore, 
"  but  the  practical  aunt  must  say  that  Dorus  is  often 
moody  and  fretful.  She  has  something  on  her  mind 
which  she  will  not  tell,  even  to  me." 

"  Sentimental,  perhaps.  Girls  of  that  age  often 
are.     She  may  even  be  in  love." 

"  No — no,  I'm  sure  she  is  not." 

"  Perhaps  not  really,"  persisted  the  General ; 
"  girls  have  ideals,  and  Dorus  is  probably  no  excep- 
tion. Girls'  fancies  run  towards  ideals  first;  and 
many  an  unhappy  wife  to-day  is  herself  to  blame  for 
not  working  to  bring  her  husband  up  to  her  ideal  of 
romantic  manhood;  rather  than  blaming  him  because 
he  is  not  ready-made  to  match  her  pattern.  I  trust 
my  little  girl,  when  the  time  comes,  will  choose  one 
who  is  worthy  of  her,  and  whom  she  can  idealize." 

"  What  a  philosopher  you  are,  even  on  love  mat- 
ters," said  Lenore.  "  I  must  find  Dorus,"  she  con- 
tinued, passing  out  of  the  door. 


The  Letter  H 


"  Yes,  I  can  philosophize  on  love  in  the  abstract, 
and  on  other  people's  love  affairs,  but  precious  little 
good  it  does  me.  Philosophy  has  not  dulled  the 
sting  in  my  heart,  nor  healed  the  wound."  Har- 
lington  threw  himself  into  a  big  chair,  and,  ignor- 
ing the  beautiful  June  scene  without,  sat  motionless, 
his  gray  head  buried  in  his  hands. 

Despondency  in  a  man  young  and  vigorous  is  to 
be  despised,  for  it  denotes  weakness ;  but  despondency 
in  a  man  whose  hair  is  silvered  with  age  provokes 
pity,  for  it  signifies  regret,  and  in  regret  lies  the 
sting  of  failure  and  the  pain  of  memory.  His  mood 
was  the  more  strenuous  in  the  poignancy  of  its  pain 
because  all  about  him  was  joyous  happiness.  The 
winsome  young  mistress  had  come  home  at  last. 
Merry  laughter  floated  in  through  the  open  door. 
The  thrilling  and  trilling  of  bird  songs  made  a  har- 
mony of  gladness,  and  the  piping  of  the  tuneful 
whistles  on  the  river  boats  was  as  a  carol  of  joy  for 
the  return  of  the  mistress  of  Harlington  Hall.  And, 
meantime,  the  master  of  Harlington  was  drinking 
the  dregs  of  memory.  The  sweet,  clear  eyes  of  the 
little  daughter  whose  birth  had  cost  him  his  wife 
brought  back  vividly  the  scenes  that  had  made  him 
an  old  man  long  before  his  time. 

60 


Prisoners  of  Fate 


Into  his  mind  there  came  the  picture  of  the  city 
of  tents  where  his  soldiers  had  camped  at  Thibo- 
deauxville,  of  the  little  house  that  he  called  head- 
quarters, and  which,  with  a  thousand  little  touches 
of  femininity,  was  indelibly  stamped  with  the  per- 
sonality of  his  wife.  He  remembered  Higby's  ar- 
rival, and  the  innocent  gossip  of  the  camp.  Then 
the  coming  of  the  strange  woman  and  her  child,  and 
her  claim  that  a  man  by  the  name  of  Horace  Har- 
lington  was  her  husband. 

He  remembered  Higby's  explanation  of  having 
been  in  Mexico  with  a  scapegrace  friend,  who  had 
assumed  the  name  of  Harlington  to  cover  one  of  his 
sentimental  escapades.  Then,  with  strange  per- 
sistency, the  thought  came  back,  as  it  had  scores  of 
times  before,  of  Higby's  eagerness  to  go  North  and 
his  anxiety  not  to  be  seen  by  the  woman.  Next 
came  the  awful  denouement,  when  the  Mexican 
learned  the  name  of  the  commanding  general,  and 
throwing  herself  at  his  own  feet,  claimed  him  as  her 
husband.  Harlington  groaned  in  agony  as,  with 
terrible  distinctness,  every  detail  of  that  time  came 
back  to  him — his  wife's  overhearing  of  the  Mexican 
woman's  piteous  pleading,  and  the  letter  H  branded 
on  the  child's  white  forehead.     His  wife's  mind  had 

61 


The  Letter  H 


given  way,  and  in  her  madness  she  tried  to  murder 
the  boy,  burying  her  knife  in  the  couch.  "  See !  see ! 
Lenore !  " — the  very  words  and  accents  came  back 
to  Harlington — "  there,  do  you  not  see  him  ?  He 
lifts  his  curls  from  his  forehead — that  horrible  let- 
ter H  that  his  mother  burned  upon  it  for  his  father 
— my  husband — to  know  his  son !  "  The  old  general 
groaned  and  cold  perspiration  stood  out  on  his  fore- 
head. He  grasped  the  arms  of  his  chair  and  swore 
a  terrible  oath: 

"  God !  that  my  sweet  wife  should  die  believing 
that  of  me.  By  heaven,  what  have  I  done  that  my 
life  should  be  cursed  like  this?  Thirty-eight  years 
before  I  found  her — one  short  year  of  love  and  con- 
tentment, and  then  the  terrible  tragedy  that  killed 
her — and  then  the  years  of  agony.  And  Dorus,  too  ? 
Is  the  curse  on  her  ?  " 

Harlington's  head  dropped  into  his  hands,  and  the 
tears  that  come  but  rarely  to  the  eyes  of  a  strong 
man  dampened  his  fingers. 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  floor,  and  in  through  the 
[French  window  came  Higby.  He  had  never  looked 
more  trim  and  spruce;  not  a  hair  was  out  of  place, 
his  clothes  were  immaculate.  He  was  in  the  room 
before  he  noticed  the  motionless  figure  in  the  chair. 
Then  he  started. 


Prisoners  of  Fate 


"  Horace !  "  he  cried. 

The  head  was  lifted  wearily,  and  into  the  eyes 
there  struggled  back  a  realization  of  the  present. 

"  Ah,  Henry,  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  General, 
rising  slowly. 

The  traces  of  tears  were  unmistakable. 

"  Tears,  Horace  ?  "  said  Higby.  "  Has  Doras 
come  ? " 

The  question  received  a  nod  from  Harlington,  and 
Higby  rattled  on :  "  Of  course  she  has.  Then  those 
are  tears  of  joy  for  the  happy  present." 

The  General  shook  his  head,  and  both  men 
dropped  into  their  chairs.  Harlington  placed  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  together,  and  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  let  his  eyes  rest  on  the  large  portrait  hung 
above  the  fireplace.  It  was  his  wife,  taken  from 
the  miniature  which  he  guarded  in  his  secretary. 
In  the  face,  tenderness  and  sympathy  struggled  for 
the  mastery.  There  was  a  touch  of  mischief  in  the 
big,  serious,  gray  eyes  which  followed  one  soberly 
about  the  room,  and  a  dash  of  coquetry  in  the  curve 
of  the  red  lips. 

"  I  will  be  honest,"  said  Harlington,  his  eyes  on 
the  gray  ones  in  the  frame,  "  I  will  be  honest.  They 
are  tears  of  sorrow  for  the  sad,  the  bitter  past." 

68 


The  Letter  H 


Higby  rose  abruptly,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room. 

"  Curse  that  meddling  woman !  Curse  all  such 
women !  "  he  cried,  with  feeling.  "  That  woman 
was  an  adventuress.  Her  every  act  proved  it.  She 
claimed  you  when  you  said  your  name  was  Horace 
Harlington,  but  she  did  not  recognize  you.  When 
you  proved  that  you  could  not  be  the  one  of  whom 
she  was  in  search,  at  sight  of  my  picture,  she  said  I 
was  the  man — probably  remembering  to  have  seen 
me  with  my  friend.  She  was  an  adventuress,  but 
not  a  dangerous  one,  for  she  was  a  bungler " 

"  Yes,  but  that  bungling  broke  up  my  home — 
killed  my  wife,  made  me  an  old  man  in  a  year."  The 
General  spoke  passionately.  "  Do  you  know,  Henry 
— I  never  told  you  before — but  in  my  despair  I 
cursed  you  as  the  cause  of  all  my  trouble." 

"Horace,  we  will  forget  that;" — Higby  spoke  with 
the  air  of  an  injured  man — "  you  have  suffered,  so 
have  I.     Your  daughter  lives " 

"  Yes,  and  she  is  the  image  of  her  mother,"  broke 
in  Harlington. 

"  My  son  lives,"  continued  Higby,  "  and  I  have 
striven  to  make  my  Herman  a  better  man  than  his 
father,  and  worthy  of  such  a  girl  as  Dorus." 

64 


CHAPTEE   V 

COLONEL   HIGBY   TAKES   TO  MATCH-MAKING 

It  was  nearly  a  week  after  the  arrival  of  Doras 
and  her  aunt  at  Harlington  Hall. 

Lenore  Clifton  was  glad  to  be  home.  The  sombre 
old  house  had  never  seemed  so  beautiful  to  her — 
the  General's  genial  hospitality  so  cordial. 

As  for  Doras,  she  was  like  some  wild  thing  set 
free.  Doras  was  clever  when  she  was  in  the  mood, 
but  even  Miss  Clifton  was  startled  at  the  sparkling 
brilliancy  the  girl  displayed  for  the  first  few  days 
after  their  return.  There  are  some  natures  so  finely 
strung  that  the  merest  trifle  serves  to  set  them  in 
tune  with  the  world,  and  which  are  plunged  into  the 
veriest  discord  by  an  incident  of  no  consequence. 
One  such  was  Doras,  and  it  seemed  that  some  force, 
unknown  to  any  but  herself,  had  transformed  her 
into  this  wonderfully  bright,  light-hearted  creature. 

The  festivities  that  had  been  planned  to  welcome 
her  home-coming  had  been  delayed,  for  Dorus  had 
insisted  that  she  needed  some  time  to  get  acquainted 

65 


The  Letter  H 


again  with  her  home.  She  flew  from  room  to  room, 
from  the  cellar  to  the  attic  and  back  again,  into  the 
library,  then  into  the  stately  drawing-rooms,  and 
she  seemed  never  to  get  enough  of  her  own  dainty 
room.  !Nor  did  it  seem  possible  for  her  to  get  tired 
of  sitting  on  the  wide  veranda,  gazing  at  the  won- 
derful view  of  the  green  lawns,  the  hills  and  the 
blue  river.  She  was  a  loyal  little  American  was 
Dorus,  and  to  her  the  Hudson  River,  and  Storm 
King,  and  Old  Crow's  !Nest  were  more  beautiful  far 
than  the  Rhine,  or  the  Elbe,  or  the  Thames.  She 
might  travel,  but  it  was  that  she  might  the  more 
truly  appreciate  the  valley  of  the  Hudson.  She  even 
went  so  far  as  to  write  a  little  poem  about  it,  which 
she  sent  to  a  magazine,  but  which  was  never  pub- 
lished. 

At  last  the  day  came  that  had  been  chosen  as 
the  time  for  the  gala  event,  when  the  welcome  of 
the  whole  countryside  was  to  be  given  to  the  young 
mistress  of  the  Hall.  Dorus  was  so  busy  that  she 
seemed  to  be  everywhere  at  once.  Hers  was  a  na- 
ture that  combined  the  practical  and  the  romantic 
in  a  curious  way.  She  was  dreamy,  sensitive,  im- 
aginative, as  Travis  had  said;  yet,  with  character- 
istic nervousness  she  threw  herself  into  every  active 


Colonel  Higby  Takes  to  Match-making 

work  that  presented  itself.  She  was  the  soul  of  the 
busy  household,  and  had  taken  the  lead  in  the  ar- 
rangements. 

On  this  afternoon,  in  searching  for  her  father, 
she  stumbled  upon  Higby  quite  unavoidably.  He 
had  just  got  back  from  Albany,  where  he  had  spent 
a  few  days.  The  girl  did  not  know  that  he  had  re- 
turned until  she  came  upon  him,  ensconced  in  a  big 
arm-chair  in  the  library,  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
immensely  well  satisfied  with  himself.  He  heard  her 
voice  as  she  came  slowly  down  the  hall : 

"  Daddy !  Daddy !  " — with  a  slow,  rising  inflection 
on  the  "dy."  "Where  yo'  gone,  Daddy?"  The 
softness  of  her  laugh,  the  sweetness  of  her  Southern 
accent,  came  floating  in  through  the  open  windows, 
and  Higby  and  Harlington  stood  listening  until  she 
herself  appeared  at  the  door.  She  wore  a  simple 
gown  of  blue,  and  her  broad  hat  was  carried  in  her 
hand.  As  she  stood  framed  by  the  doorway,  she 
was  a  picture  of  sincere,  sweet  girlhood. 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  she  said,  at  sight  of  Higby. 
She  had  never  liked  him,  although,  as  her  father's 
friend,  she  had  always  been  courteous  to  him.  Higby 
saw  a  number  of  emotions  reflected  in  her  face,  and 
the  chief  of  them  was  not  one  of  welcome. 

67 


The  Letter  H 


He  bowed  with  the  ease  of  a  Chesterfield,  and 
advanced  toward  Dorus,  who  was  followed  by 
Lenore. 

"Ladies,"  he  said,  with  courtly  ease,  "the  five  days 
that  I  have  been  away  have  seemed  very  long  with- 
out your  delightful  company,  and  to-night  I  shall 
have  to  share  you  with  so  many  worshippers,  though 
you  will  find  among  them  no  more  devoted  admirer 
than  myself."  His  air  was  half-bantering,  and  as 
he  shook  hands  with  them  he  laughed  easily.  Dorus 
tossed  her  head  somewhat  contemptuously,  for  high- 
flown  compliments  always  jarred  upon  her. 

"  Which  is  the  stronger,  Colonel  Higby,  devotion 
or  admiration  ?  " 

"  At  the  present  instant,  each  is  struggling  for  the 
mastery,"  replied  Higby,  with  a  low  bow. 

Dorus  laughed. 

"  Colonel  Higby,  you  are  living  in  the  wrong  age. 
You  are  mediaeval — the  incarnation  of  chivalric 
thoughts  and  dainty  speeches.  Auntie,  aren't  you 
sorry  that  Colonel  Higby  is  so  old  ? "  She  turned 
to  Miss  Clifton  at  the  last  impudent  clause,  while 
the  face  of  the  older  woman  flushed  painfully. 

"  Colonel,"  said  Miss  Clifton,  "  she  is  a  wild,  way- 
ward child." 

68 


Colonel  Higby  Takes  to  Match-making 

Doras  turned  with  a  mock-serious  expression  and 
with  pouting  lips  to  her  father: 

"  Daddy,  will  you  allow  Aunt  Lenore  to  speak 
so  of  me  before  company?  Do  you  think  I  am 
wayward,  papa  ? " 

The  winsome  gray  eyes,  the  low  voice  and  the 
soft  Southern  accent  were  irresistible. 

"  Dearest,"  said  her  father,  taking  the  lovely  face 
in  his  hands,  "  I  know  you  are  my  blessing." 

Doras  wheeled  about  to  her  aunt. 

"  There,  do  you  hear  that,  Auntie  ? "  she  cried 
triumphantly.  "  I  am  a  blessing  to  one  man ;  I 
wonder  if  I  shall  ever  be  to  another  ? " 

This  last  she  said  gayly,  half  in  fun  and  half  in 
earnest,  but  Higby  grasped  his  chance. 

"  Of  course  you  will,"  he  began ;  "  to  Herman, 
for  instance.  Have  you  forgotten  him?  Shouldn't 
you  remember  your  old  playmate  ? " 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  the  girl,  throwing  herself  into 
a  chair. 

Higby  stood  looking  at  her,  and  thinking  that 
perhaps  the  broad  acres  of  Harlington  would  not  be 
so  easily  won  after  all. 

"  I  don't  believe  I've  forgotten  him  entirely," 
continued  the  girl,  "though  I  can't  say  positively. 
What  is  he  like,  anyway  ? " 


The  Letter  H 


The  tone  she  used  evidenced  less  of  interest  in 
Herman  Higby  than  a  desire  to  keep  the  conversa- 
tion going.  The  General  and  Miss  Clifton  had 
sauntered  out  of  the  door  to  the  lawn.  Higby  was 
delighted  to  be  alone  with  the  girl.  He  really  loved 
his  boy,  and  though  he  coveted  Harlington  Hall,  it 
was  for  his  son's  sake. 

"  Well,"  he  began,  "  he  is  rather  tall,  above  me- 
dium height,  fair " 

"  I  hate  blondes,"  the  girl  interrupted,  with 
scarcely  a  hint  of  interest  in  her  voice.  Higby  was 
surprised,  but  he  went  on  without  noticing  the  in- 
terruption : 

"  Classic  features " 

"  Always  in  genteel  repose,  like  a  face  carved  in 
ivory,  I  suppose,"  the  girl  interrupted  again.  "  For 
my  part,  marble  brows  and  alabaster  noses  always 
remind  me  of  Italian  images." 

Higby  lost  patience.  Dorus  was  very  beautiful, 
and  very  rich,  but  not  even  Dorus  could  be  allowed 
to  ridicule  Herman  with  impunity. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  in  the  tone  of 
one  trying  to  scold  a  petulant  child,  "  you  supply 
your  own  similes,  and  then  find  fault  with  me  as  if 
I  were  the  author." 

70 


Colonel  Higby  Takes  to  Match-making 

"  It's  a  bad  habit  I  learned  in  Paris,"  she  said. 
"  There,  people,  you  know,  are  so  superficial  that 
they  are  rarely  sensitive  to  polite  abuse.  What  is 
his  hair?  Unless  my  memory  is  treacherous,  it  was 
suspiciously  near  a  red — auburn  in  the  shade." 

"  Your  memory  is  not  reliable.  It  is  fair.  He 
is  a  decided  blonde." 

"  And  his  temperament  8  "  asked  Dorus  sweetly. 
"  Is  he  as  cross  as  you — can  be  ?  " 

Higby  laughed  uneasily  at  the  thrust.  He  felt 
that  in  his  effort  to  get  even  with  the  girl  he  had 
been  worsted. 

"  Herman  is  very  gay,"  he  said,  reverting  to  the 
subject  of  his  son. 

"  I  detest  gayety  in  a  man — it  usually  denotes  a 
frivolous  disposition." 

Higby  was  nonplussed.  Dorus  had  left  home  a 
merry,  light-hearted  child.  Now  she  was  even  more 
beautiful  than  she  had  given  promise  of  being.  The 
large  majority  or  beautiful  women,  Higby  had  rea- 
soned, were  far  from  clever ;  and  he  had  not  doubted 
that  Dorus  belonged  to  the  large  majority.  Like 
many  wiser  men,  he  had  reckoned  without  his  host. 
She  was  so  bewilderingly  beautiful,  with  her  strange, 
misty  eyes;  and  the  misty  brown  hair  whose  tint 

71 


The  Letter  H 


was  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  grayness  of  the 
eyes;  that  to  Higby  her  cleverness  seemed  almost 
uncanny.  He  had  set  out  determinedly  to  be  a 
matchmaker,  and  had  anticipated  no  difficulty.  He 
had  lived  at  a  time  and  in  a  set  of  people  where 
uaughters  married  as  they  were  bidden;  and  sons, 
too,  for  that  matter.  He  had  loved  with  all  the 
love  of  which  a  diminutive  soul  is  capable;  but  his 
father's  wish  pointed  to  an  entirely  different  and  an 
eminently  suitable  wife  elsewhere,  and  he  had  un- 
questionably obeyed  the  parental  dictum.  That  a 
mere  slip  of  a  girl  like  Dorus  should  set  up  her  will 
and  her  opinions  against  those  of  her  father  was  an 
almost  incredible  proposition  to  him;  and  in  its  con- 
tinuance he  foresaw  the  ruin  of  all  his  hopes  and 
plans  with  regard  to  the  acquisition  of  Harlington 
Hall  and  the  heiress  of  Harlington. 

Higby's  emotions  had  concentrated,  and  his  one 
overmastering  sensation  was  anger.  The  girl's  atti- 
tude of  indifference  was  insufferable  to  his  fatherly 
pride.  If  she  had  said  "  I  hate  him,"  he  would 
have  viewed  the  situation  with  altered  feelings,  for 
Higby  knew  that  when  a  woman  says  "  I  hate,"  nine 
times  out  of  ten  she  means  "  I  love,"  and  the  tenth 
time  it  is  "  I  adore." 

72 


Colonel  Higby  Takes  to  Match-making 

The  girl  was  watching  a  tiny  rowboat,  its  occu- 
pant pulling  hard  against  the  stream.  The  tears 
came  to  her  eyes.  She  forgot  Higby.  She  was 
thinking  how  pitiful  was  the  struggle  of  the  wee, 
small  boat  against  the  strong,  almost  resistless  cur- 
rent, and  yet  how  bravely  it  pushed  ahead.  "  That's 
me,"  she  was  thinking  ungrammatically ;  "  the  whole 
world  is  against  me,  but  if  that  little  boat  can  fight 
its  way  alone,  I  am  sure  I  can,  too." 

After  a  long  pause,  Higby  spoke. 

"  Your  opinion  of  my  son,"  he  said,  coming  back 
to  the  subject  with  a  persistency  that  should  have 
won  him  favor,  "  is  unjust  because  premature,  and 
a  father  could  hardly  be  expected  to  extol  the  virtues 
of  his  son  to  one  who  should  know  them." 

"  What  did  you  say?"  asked  Dorus,  turning  her 
wide  gray  eyes,  full  of  new  determination  and  pur- 
pose, upon  him.  "  Oh  yes,  about  Herman,"  she  con- 
tinued, bringing  herself  back  to  the  discussion  with 
an  effort.  "  Colonel,  you  haven't  been  a  bit  interest- 
ing. I  thought  you  would  let  me  talk  about  Paris, 
and  the  host  of  beaux  I  had  there,  and  here  you've 
l^een  monopolizing  the  entire  conversation,"  and  she 
laughed  wickedly. 

"  That  same  curl  of  the  lip  that  I  remember  in 
78 


The  Letter  H 


her  mother,"  said  Higby  to  himself.  "  She  doesn't 
like  me — her  mother  never  did."     Aloud,  he  said: 

"  After  all,  you  will  be  glad  to  see  him." 

"  Oh,  being  a  man,  I  suppose  he'll  be  amusing," 
she  retorted. 

At  this  Higby's  anger  flared  up  anew. 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  I  have  brought  him  up 
simply  to  become  amusing  ?  He  is  now  at  Harvard." 
There  was  satire  in  the  man's  voice. 

"  Why  is  he  leaving  ? "  she  asked.  "  Has  he 
graduated  ? " 

"  It  is  vacation." 

"  Oh !    Why  don't  you  put  him  in  the  army  ?" 

"Why  so?" 

"  Oh,  when  men  are  in  the  army  they  are  out  of 
the  way." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Higby.  "Well,  time  will 
show.  And  as  Lenore  and  the  General  came  back 
he  turned  to  greet  them,  with  something  that  was 
akin  to  relief. 


74 


*f 


CHAPTEK   VI 


THE    TRAUMEBEI 


A  woman  is  never  so  much  of  a  woman  as  when 
she  is  in  her  own  room,  surrounded  with  all  the 
dainty  little  accessories  that  mark  her  own  individu- 
ality. Dorus's  tasteful  chamber  was  no  exception 
to  the  rule,  and  it  was  full  of  all  the  faintly-fragrant 
little  trifles  that  were  her  very  own.  Something 
of  the  peace  and  tranquillity  that  was  expressed  in 
its  arrangement  entered  the  soul  of  Dorus  when  she 
returned  to  it  immediately  after  her  encounter  with 
Herman's  father.  Upon  her  dressing-table  were  the 
photographs  of  a  few  dear  friends.  In  the  centre 
was  a  picture  of  Herman  Higby.  "  I  hate  you," 
she  cried  angrily  to  the  innocent  picture,  and  with 
a  quick  movement  of  her  hand  she  dropped  the 
little  pasteboard  slip  down  behind  the  dressing-table. 

"  Nanny,"  she  called,  softly,  "  Nanny,  do  come 
and  make  me  pretty." 

"  Nanny,"  she  said,  when  her  maid  came,  "  f  o* 
de  sake  ob  de  Ian',  do  talk  me  into  a  cheerful  mood. 
Colonel  Higby  has  made  me  feel  perfectly  miserable. 

75 


The  Letter  H 


I  think  he  is  clean  daft,  for  he  hasn't  said  an  earthly 
word  except  in  praise  of  his  son  Herman." 

Nanny  laid  the  blue  skirt  she  was  folding,  over 
a  chair ;  and  then  turned  and  eyed  her  mistress  with 
fond  admiration.  Dorus  in  a  travelling  costume 
was  charming,  but  Dorus  in  negligee  was  bewitching. 
Nanny,  in  her  class,  was  second  to  none  in  point  of 
good  looks,  and  it  was  with  an  artistic  appreciation 
of  the  charm  of  blue  eyes,  golden  hair  and  rosy 
cheeks  that  she  wore  a  perky  bow  over  her  pompa- 
dour and  insisted  upon  donning  a  dainty  ruffled 
apron  on  all  occasions.  Moreover,  Nanny  was 
clever. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  going  to  marry  him," 
she  said  with  seeming  innocence. 

The  slim  figure  that  was  relaxed  wearily  in  the 
big  chair  straightened  instantly,  and  there  was  a  sus- 
picion of  the  flash  of  steely  flame  in  the  gray  eyes. 

"  Don't  you  dare  say  that  again !  "  exclaimed  the 
mistress  of  Harlington  haughtily.  "  And  don't  you 
ever  tell  anyone  such  a  thing,  or  I  shall  be  very,  very 
angry.    I  know  you  can  be  discreet,  Nanny." 

Kind  as  Dorus  always  was  to  her  attendant,  the 
maid  knew  that  when  she  spoke  in  this  tone  obedi- 
ence was  expected.     There  was  a  pause  of  embar- 

76 


"The  Traumerei" 


rassment,  but  when  Dorus  spoke  again  it  was  in  her 
usual  kindly  tone.    "Nanny  1" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Dorus." 

"  Do  my  hair  high,  like  mother's  in  the  picture." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Dorus,"  said  the  girl  again. 

Dorus  watched  the  maid  deftly  pile  the  masses 
of  her  hair,  and  noted  eagerly  that  when  she  fin- 
ished, the  resemblance  between  herself  and  the 
mother  she  had  never  known  was  more  startling 
than  ever. 

"  I  must  wear  something  low-necked  and  old- 
fashioned  looking,  Nanny,"  she  said  presently. 

Finally  she  was  ready.  Her  gown  was  of  pale, 
soft  muslin,  and  over  her  shoulders  was  a  little  lace 
ruffled  affair,  leaving  her  throat  exposed. 

"  Dorus,"  she  said  to  her  image  in  the  glass,  "  just 
be  good  enough  to  keep  your  eye  on  Colonel  Higby 
when  you  go  down  stairs.  He  may  have  something 
on  his  mind,  and  this  might  help  him  to  an  under- 
standing." 

Dorus  had  no  idea  what  she  expected  when  she 
faced  Higby.  A  man  comes  to  his  conclusions  by 
logic,  but  a  woman  reaches  them  invariably  by  way 
of  feminine  intuition.  And  Dorus's  intuition  told 
her  that  the  memories   revived   by  seeing  one   so 

77 


The  Letter  H 


nearly  like  the  other  Dorus  Harlington  would  affect 
Higby  in  some  way. 

She  was  very  stately  as  she  went  step  by  step 
down  the  broad  stairway  that  June  afternoon.  She; 
stood  in  the  doorway  a  moment,  the  shadows  sur- 
rounding her  like  the  atmosphere  of  an  old  portrait. 
As  the  paintings  of  the  old  masters  are  softened, 
the  colors  mellowed  and  the  brilliancy  toned  down, 
by  the  influence  of  time,  so,  in  the  hazy  light,  Dorus 
stood  in  her  gown  of  pale  cornflower,  the  atmosphere 
caressing  her — a  part  of  the  picture. 

Lenore  gave  a  little  gasp  as  she  saw  her,  and  her 
father,  rising,  whispered  softly :  "  My  Beautiful !  " 
But  Higby  only  tossed  away  his  cigar  after  a  brief 
glance  at  her. 

So  the  first  situation  created  by  Dorus  was  a 
failure.  She  felt  that  there  was  something  amiss, 
and  she  was  most  annoyed  that  she  had  failed  to 
evoke  any  emotion  on  the  part  of  Higby.  As  for 
the  latter,  he  was  confounded.  He  wondered  what 
had  possessed  the  girl  to  assume  the  attitude  of 
antagonism,  and  an  instant's  review  of  all  his  con- 
versation with  her  since  her  return  was  sufficient 
to  show  that  she  had  seized  every  opportunity  of 
making  a  thrust  at  him  which  could  not  fail  to  be 

78 


"The  Traumerei" 


unpleasant  With  a  man's  utter  disregard  for  the 
verity  of  a  woman's  intuitions,  he  cast  about  for 
some  motive  for  this.  He  tried  to  reason  out  the 
why  and  wherefore,  but  could  reach  no  result.  He 
had  endeavored  to  be  pleasant  with  her.  He  had 
taken  rebuffs  and  had  held  his  peace,  when  his  in- 
stinct was  to  cut  deep  with  a  retort.  Now  he  was 
absolutely  nonplussed,  but  not  a  line  in  his  face 
showed  his  perplexity.  He  only  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  a  trifle  more  comfortably. 

"  Miss  Dorus,"  he  said  languidly,  "  you  accused 
me  a  while  ago  of  not  showing  a  proper  interest  in 
your  travels.     Do  tell  us  about  them." 

"  Oh,  pshaw,"  she  returned  carelessly,  "  I'm  so 
tired  of  it  all  and  so  glad  to  be  at  home  that  I  don't 
want  to  talk  about  it." 

Dorus  had  a  ready  wit,  and  her  ambition  seemed 
to  be  to  worst  Higby  at  every  turn.  The  conversa- 
tion soon  became  a  running  fire  of  repartee  between 
the  two.  Lenore  and  Harlington,  thus  left  out, 
stepped  through  the  open  window  to  the  porch. 

"  We  are  no  match  for  Dorus,"  said  the  General, 
"  and  I  can't  be  cross  with  her.  "  We'll  go  and 
superintend  the  preparations  for  to-night.  What 
could  we  do  without  you,  Lenore  ? "  he  added,  as 
they  reached  the  porch. 

79 


The  Letter  H 


Higby  watched  them. 

"  Do  you  think  your  aunt  will  ever  marry  ? "  he 
drawled. 

"  Marry  ?  "  she  snapped.  "  I  should  think  not. 
Do  you  imagine  I  would  allow  such  a  thing?  I 
couldn't  exist  without  Auntie.  I  wouldn't  give  her 
up  except  to  the  best  man  living — so  don't  you  be 
silly  enough  to  lift  an  eye  in  that  direction." 

Higby  lifted  his  hands  in  mock  consternation. 

"  Heaven  deliver  me,"  he  said,  "  I'm  not  a  marry- 
ing man." 

"  I'm  happy  to  hear  it,"  she  retorted. 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
Higby  drew  out  his  gold-mounted  cigar  case  and 
turned  to  the  girl  again,  somewhat  perfunctorily. 
"  Do  you  object  to  smoke  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Sometimes  less  than  to  the  smoker,"  she  said 
coolly.  And  Higby  instantly  replaced  the  cigar  in 
its  case. 

Just  then,  soft,  and  faint,  and  far  away,  resting 
on  the  cool  air  like  the  fragrance  of  June  lilacs,  came 
the  pathetic  music  of  a  violin.  Clear  and  sweet, 
mingling  in  harmony  with  the  sounds  of  nature, 
came  the  notes  of  the  "  Traumerei."  Doras  started 
— almost  frightened.      The  instinctive   antagonism 

80 


"The  Traumerei" 


aroused  in  her  by  the  proximity  of  Higby  was  sub- 
dued instantly,  and  note  by  note  she  followed  the 
sweet  harmony,  forgetful  of  all  e^jA*  At  the  first 
strain  she  had  risen  from  her  chair,  and  with  her 
hands  on  the  back  stood  and  listened.  Every  fibre 
of  her  sensitive  body  was  tense.  Her  eyes  were 
dark  with  feeling,  while  every  sense  seemed  absorbed 
by  the  insistent  melody  and  the  tenderness  and 
pathos  of  the  violin. 

Higby  glanced  at  her. 

"  What  can  Luke  be  thinking  of  \ "  he  exclaimed 
petulantly.  "  Why  doesn't  he  send  that  musician 
about  his  business  %  " 

Dorus  turned  to  him  gently.  Her  face  was  suf- 
fused with  color,  and  her  eyes  were  luminous  and 
soft. 

"  Ah !  "  she  said,  "  he  is  doing  that — well."  After 
a  pause,  she  went  on :  "  It  is  his  legitimate  business, 
and  who  could  do  it  better  ? " 

Higby  was  conscious  that  she  had  been  touched — 
deeply. 

"  Why  must  we  be  so  annoyed  ? "  he  grumbled. 
"  The  idea  of  any  one  being  allowed  to  make  day 
and  night  hideous  with  cheap  music!  It  is  not 
legitimate." 

81 


The  Letter  H 


"  Oh,  Colonel  Higby,"  cried  the  girl,  taking  a  step 
towards  him  impulsively,  "  you  don't  know  what  you 
are  saying.     1%'t  it  beautiful  ? " 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Harlington,"  said  Higby,  "  if 
I  take  my  departure.  I  hate  the  whining  of  a 
violin — if  you  enjoy  it,  I  leave  you  to  your  reverie." 

He  turned  as  he  said  the  last  word,  and  went 
swiftly  out  of  the  French  window. 

Dorus  sank  back  into  her  chair,  relieved  more 
than  she  could  say.  Softly,  the  insistent  music 
came — clear  and  sweet,  and  wonderfully  tender. 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  lost  her- 
self in  thought.  Thus  it  was  that  Lenore,  coming 
softly  into  the  room,  found  her. 

"  Why,  Dorus,  dear,"  she  asked  in  some  agita- 
tion, "  what  is  the  matter — crying  3  " 

The  girl  looked  up,  her  face  shining. 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  strange,  half -mystical 
smile,   "  only  dreaming." 

Lenore  started.  "  Of  what  ? "  she  asked  anx- 
iously. 

"  Well,  it  wasn't  a  rhinoceros,  and  it  wasn't  a 
windmill,"  she  answered,  with  a  playful  little  nod 
of  her  head. 

"  Oh,  whom,  then  ?  "  persisted  the  aunt. 
82 


"  The  Traumerei ': 


I>orus  looked  towards  the  place  whence  the  music 
had  appeared  to  come — just  out  beyond  the  shadows 
of  the  great  twin  cedars.  The  music  had  ceased 
now,  and  there  were  only  the  sweet  sounds  of  the 
wind  in  the  trees  and  the  singing  of  the  birds.  The 
playfulness  had  gone  from  the  girl's  face,  and  in  its 
place  was  an  expression  of  exaltation — of  ineffable 
sweetness. 

"  Of  my  future  husband,"  she  half  whispered. 

Lenore  paled  under  the  dark  olive  of  her  com- 
plexion. 

"  Who  is  he,  dear — Herman  Higby  ?  " 

The  sweetness  lingered  on  her  face,  and  her  voice 
was  soft  and  low: 

"  No,  not  Herman  Higby.  The  one  of  whom  I 
was  dreaming  I  never  saw,  nor  did  I  ever  hear  his 
name " 

"  Then  how  will  you  know  him  when  you  meet  ?  " 
asked  Lenore,  eagerly. 

"  No  fear  of  that.  I  should  know  him  among  ten 
thousand." 

"  Lenore  grew  white  to  the  lips,  and  her  hands 
trembled.  STTe  shuddered  a  little.  Through  her 
mind  passed  the  words  of  the  girl's  mother — spoken 
eighteen  years  before — "  I  should  know  him  among 


The  Letter  H 


ten  thousand."  Tears  welled  in  her  eyes,  and  to 
her  lips  came  a  prayer  that  the  girl  would  never  meet 
the  poor  unfortunate  being  whom  her  frantic  mother 
so  longed  to  destroy. 

"  Auntie,"  said  the  girl,  "  I'm  in  a  confidential 
mood  to-day.  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know  about  him, 
if  you  will  listen  and  won't  laugh  at  me." 

For  answer,  Lenore  brushed  the  misty  brown  hair 
from  the  low,  broad  forehead  and  kissed  her  gently : 

"  Does  a  true  mother  ever  laugh  at  her  daughter's 
confidences  ? " 

They  sat  down  together  on  the  couch. 

"  Do  you  know,  Auntie,"  began  the  girl,  "  I  think 
I  must  have  met  him  in  some  of  the  past  ages  of  the 
world.  We  may  have  stood  together  when  the 
Queen  of  Sheba  arrived  at  King  Solomon's  gates, 
and  while  my  hero,  it  may  be,  was  admiring  her 
beauty  and  grandeur;  I  had  eyes  for  none  but  him 
— or  he  may  have  been  Pompeii's  king,  and  I  his 
slave." 

She  stopped,  her  gaze  resting  on  the  scene  beyond, 
and  over  and  over  in  her  mind  echoed  the  plaintive 
melody  of  the  "  Traumerei." 

Lenore  watched  the  girl  narrowly,  and  the  unshed 
tears  made  her  eyes  shine  unnaturally.  "  The  curse 
will  work  its  course,"  she  said  sadly,  to  herself. 

84 


"The  Trawmerei" 


"  And  when  you  think  of  this  unknown  hero," 
her  aunt  asked,  interrupting  the  girl's  musings,  "  is 
it  with  feelings  of  hatred  ? " 

Dorus  looked  at  her  aunt. 

"  Hatred  %  "  she  repeated  passionately — then,  as 
though  she  had  not  heard  aright — "  Can  a  woman 
hate  her  own  soul  ?  He  has  grown  into  my  life,  he 
is  part  of  myself.  Awake  or  sleeping,  that  face 
comes  to  me.  The  lips  are  motionless,  but  the  eyes 
seem  to  say,  '  We  shall  meet ' ;  and  when  we  do,  be 
he  king  or  beggar,  I  shall  love  him,  and — "  She 
stopped  short,  looked  at  her  aunt  and  gave  a  quick, 
hysterical  laugh: 

"  It  is  all  very  silly,  isn't  it,  Auntie  ?  Don't  mind 
me,  will  you  ?  " 

The  older  woman  put  her  arms  around  the  young 
girl,  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 

"  Young  girls  are  apt  to  talk  nonsense,  but  they 
outgrow  it,  and  you  must.  Dismiss  such  strange 
fancies — they  can  do  you  no  good.  They  may  even 
do  you  harm,  by  leading  you  to  refuse  an  honest, 
tangible  love  such  as  Herman  Higby  can  give  you." 

Lenore  kissed  the  girl  again,  and  then  rose 
abruptly,  and  with  a  puzzled  glance  at  her,  left  the 
room. 

86 


CHAPTEE   VII 


TWO   MEN   AND   A   MAID 


Dejection  was  apparent  in  every  lineament  of 
Doras  Harlington's  pretty  face.  She  had  curled  up 
in  the  big  sleepy-hollow  chair  after  her  little  talk 
with  Lenore.  She  heard  the  music  again,  afar  off, 
softened  by  distance,  and  like  the  dream  music  in 
a  fairy  story.  How  long  she  sat  there  she  did  not 
know,  but  as  the  music  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and 
finally  died  away  altogether,  her  mood  passed. 

There  was  a  man's  step  on  the  door-sill;  and  then, 
as  though  fearing  that  the  pathetic  little  person 
curled  up  in  the  chair  was  asleep,  there  came  a  whis- 
per fluttering  across  the  room : 

"  Doras !  " 

The  girl  did  not  move.  She  knew  quite  well  the 
great  person  that  was  expected,  but  to  be  the  more 
tormenting  she  gave  no  sign  of  pleasure  or  recog- 
nition. 

"  Who  are  you,"  she  cried  with  mock  dignity, 
"  unbidden  guest,  that  with  so  mute  a  step  and  bated 
breath  doth  steal  upon  me  unawares  ? " 

86  % 


Two  Men  and  a  Maid 


The  steps  were  heard  advancing  across  the  room 
until  they  were  close  to  the  back  of  her  chair.  But 
still  she  did  not  turn,  nor  even  lift  her  head. 

"  I  am  he,"  the  voice  went  on  softly,  "  whose 
dearest  dream  is  to  see  you  happy." 

She  laughed,  pleased  in  spite  of  herself  at  the 
implied  compliment. 

"  That  voice,"  she  said,  "  recalls  a  dream  of  other 
days — one  I  thought  forgotten." 

"  Dost  know  me  ?  "  persisted  the  stranger. 

"  'Tis  he  who  has  been  exiled  and  proscribed  so 
long — Herman,  the  Count  de  Higby,"  she  said  mock- 
ingly. 

Herman  leaned  down,  a  wave  of  tenderness  came 
over  his  face  and  he  took  the  two  little  hands  in  his. 

"  Look  upon  my  altered  mien  and  say  if  I  am  he," 
he  said. 

The  gray  eyes  that  met  his  were  dancing  with 
mischief : 

"  Avaunt !  thou  beardless  youth,  thou  art  not 
Herman." 

Red  lips  gleaming,  du?t-brown  hair  tumbling  car- 
essingly over  white  temples,  gray  eyes  laughing — 
the  man  looked  down  at  the  picture  she  made  in  th« 
big  sleepy-hollow  chair. 

87 


The  Letter  H 


"  But  thou  art  Dorus,"  he  cried,  pressing  the  little 
hands  closely — the  tighter  because  of  the  flutter  in 
them — "  only  more  beautiful  than  ever,"  he  added 
in  a  low  voice. 

There  was  open  admiration  in  his  face,  and  he  let 
the  hands  go  reluctantly. 

"  Silly,"  the  girl  answered.  "  Whatever  improve- 
ment there  may  have  been  in  my  personal  appear- 
ance, I  can  assure  you  my  disposition  and  temper 
have  not  profited  thereby." 

"  We  won't  argue  about  that,"  he  said,  laughing 
at  the  memories  of  past  days  and  years.  "  I  hope 
we  shall  not  quarrel  as  we  did  when  we  were  chil- 
dren.    I  know  we  won't." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Higby.  I  have 
not  forgotten  how  you  once  pinched  my  poor  kit- 
ten's ears  until  it  was  black  in  the  face;  and,  also, 
with  the  most  heartless  cruelty,  how  you  seemed  to 
delight  in  sticking  pins  into  my  doll's  eyes." 

Both  laughed  heartily  at  the  memory. 

"  Pray  excuse  my  being  so  bold  as  to  remind  you 
that  the  kitten  in  question  was  a  black  one,  and  its 
face  was  not  susceptible  of  the  marked  change  you 
mention,"  said  Herman.  "  As  for  the  doll's  eyes, 
I  considered  them  useless  appendages,  and,  more- 


Two  Men  and  a  Maid 


over,  a  vulgar  burlesque  on  the  genuine  article,  being 
made  of  black  thread." 

They  laughed  again;  then  the  girl  spoke  with  an 
assumed  asperity  in  her  manner: 

"  Your  long-postponed  explanation  and  defence 
do  not  change  the  fact  that  your  acts  were  meant  to 
afflict  me.  It  was  I,  sir,  and  not  the  kitten  or  doll 
that  drew  forth  your  vindictiveness;  and  I  warn 
you,  sir,  that  the  injury  has  not  been  forgotten,  and 
never  will  be  forgiven." 

The  proud  poise  of  her  head,  the  sparkling  bril- 
liancy of  her  sweet  face,  the  gleam  of  her  eyes  and 
the  flash  of  her  little  white  teeth  were  irresistible. 
He  looked  down  at  her  with  an  air  that  bespoke  pos- 
session : 

"  The  loving  heart  takes  pleasure  in  forgiving  the 
injury  that  a  loving  hand  may  have  inflicted.  Dorus, 
my  child  love  has  become  a  man's  passion.  For 
years  I  have  loved  an  ideal,  only  to  find  the  real  more 
beautiful  than  my  imperfect  fancies  had  painted." 

"  Well,  I  like  that! "  she  cried.  "I  was  afraid 
I  might  find  you  a  sensible  youth,  in  which  case  my 
little  schemes  might  have  gone  a-begging." 

"  If  I  were  sensible,"  the  man  responded,  "  I 
would  become  a  fool  for  your  sake,  Dorus,  and  let 

89 


The  Letter  H 


my  good  sense  and  your  schemes  go  a-begging  to- 
gether." 

"  As  much  as  to  say  that  good  sense  could  not 
be  understood  by  me.  Young  man,"  she  continued 
sternly,  "  have  you  seen  your  father  since  your 
arrival  ? " 

Herman  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  have  not," 
he  said.     "  My  heart  led  me  to  you." 

"  Well,  now  let  your  filial  respect  lead  you  to 

your  father,  who  is  as  anxious  to  see  you  as " 

•  You  are  to  have  me  go,"  Herman  finished  for 
her. 

"  Hardly,"  replied  the  girl,  a  bit  wearily,  "  but 
I  told  you  my  disposition  had  a  sharp  edge.  I  am 
tired;  I  shall  see  you  again  a  little  later." 

He  clasped  her  hand,  then  went  slowly  out  of  the 
room,  a  puzzled  expression  in  his  eyes. 

Herman  gone,  Dorus  threw  herself  back  into  the 
chair  and  watched  the  flickering  shadows  on  the 
floor.  She  was  not  thinking  of  him.  Her  moods 
came  and  went  like  the  breeze,  and  the  one  which 
had  caused  her  to  chatter  and  play  with  her  child- 
hood's lover  was  gone.  Her  mind  was  filled  again 
by  the  insistent,  plaintive  voice  of  the  violin  and  the 
melody  of  the  "  Traumerei."    She  wondered  why  she 

90 


Two  Men  and  a  Maid 


had  been  put  into  the  world,  and  vaguely  she  felt 
a  new  loneliness — a  lack  of  something. 

Out  of  the  vagueness  of  her  dreams  one  face 
alone  stood  clear  and  constant — a  face  that  was 
dark,  and  resolute,  and  tender;  eyes  that  flashed 
full  of  meaning  into  hers.  And  always  the  plain- 
tive pleading  of  the  "  Traumerei." 

The  rattle  of  pans  and  the  voice  of  Saida  mak- 
ing preparations  for  the  evening  aroused  in  Dorus 
thoughts  of  the  party  to  take  place  that  night.  Only 
a  brief  space  before  she  had  been  the  soul  of  the 
affair,  now  she  could  not  endure  the  thought  of 
gaiety.    Of  such  contrariness  was  Dorus  made. 

Her  one  thought  now  was  to  find  the  original  of 
the  face  about  which  centred  her  hazy  dreams. 
Without  seeing,  she  gazed  out  of  the  long  French 
window,  through  the  trees  to  the  placid  river.  Up 
through  the  vista  she  saw  coming  a  tall,  broad-shoul- 
dered figure — a  young  man  carrying  a  violin — 
nearer  and  nearer  he  came,  straight  to  the  house,  as 
though  drawn  by  some  magnetic  attraction.  An 
angle  of  the  building  hid  him  at  last.  She  turned, 
some  one  was  entering  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
room.  She  raised  her  head  to  look  directly  into 
the  eyes  of  Ernesto  del  Tonjours.     Both  stood  si- 

01 


The  Letter  H 


lent.  The  gray  eyes  burning  into  the  black  ones, 
the  black  ones  into  the  gray.  Then,  over  the  girl's 
face  surged  the  red  blood,  wave  on  wave.  The 
man  dropped  his  too  ardent  gaze.  He  tightened  his 
lips,  and  drew  his  shoulders  back  straight. 

"  Mademoiselle,' '  he  began,  with  a  perceptible  ef- 
fort, "  h-how  can  I  serve  you  ?  " 

Dorus  stepped  forward  impulsively,  then  stopped 
short,  covered  with  confusion.  Ernesto,  too,  strode 
half-way  across  the  room,  and  then  stopped  as  sud- 
denly as  Dorus  had  done.  The  girl  was  devouring 
him  with  her  eyes.  She  pressed  her  hand  on  her 
breast,  as  though  to  stop  the  wild  beating  of  her 
heart.  For  a  moment,  the  strange  ecstasy  that 
thrilled  her  excluded  a  realization  of  the  demands 
of  propriety,  and  for  the  time  being,  she  lived  alone 
in  a  world  with  neither  rules  nor  conventionality  to 
which  she  must  conform.  She  had  recognized  in- 
stantly that  this  man  was  the  one  whom  she  had 
passed  on  her  way  into  the  station  the  day  of  her 
arrival  in  New  York.  Now,  she  knew  that  his  face 
and  the  dream-face  were  identical.  The  change  in 
garb  from  the  faultlessly  attired  gentleman  in  town 
to  the  rough,  picturesque  costume  of  a  traveller 
she  did  not  notice.     The  knowledge  that  he  was 

92 


Two  Men  and  a  Maid 


there,   in   her   father's   house,   excluded   all  other 
thoughts. 

So  she  stood,  but  only  for  an  instant.  Saida's 
lusty  voice  summoning  the  two  little  pickaninnies 
recalled  Dorus  to  herself,  and  she  quickly  cast  about 
for  some  excuse  for  holding  the  musician  near  her 
without  compromising  herself  more  than  she  had 
done. 

Ernesto,  however,  seeing  and  seeming  to  under- 
stand her  confusion,  had  started  for  the  French  win- 
dow.   A  timid  voice  detained  him : 

"Sir!     Sir!" 

When  he  had  turned  completely  about  and  stood 
facing  her  again,  she  went  on  with  restraint  and 
apparent  embarrassment: 

"  May  I  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed  your  play- 
ing ? "  she  said.  "  I  have  just  come  from  Paris, 
where  we  heard  the  most  beautiful  music,  but  I 
never  heard  anything  so  like  a  human  voice  calling 
to  me  as  when  you  played  just  now.  You  are  a 
professional,  of  course.  Perhaps,  if  you  are  stay- 
ing near  by,  you  will  come  up  and  give  us  some 
music  some  evening  very  soon.  I  am  sorry  we  can- 
not have  the  pleasure  to-night,  but  we  are  having  a 
large  party  in  honor  of  my  home-coming." 

93 


The  Letter  H 


Ernesto  bowed  low.  His  longing  to  stay,  to  stay 
forever  in  this  lovely  spot,  to  talk  forever  with  this 
charming  girl,  almost  overmastered  him ;  yet  he  felt 
that  he  must  not  yield. 

"  I  shall  only  be  here  to-night,"  he  murmured. 
"  I  am  obliged  to  go  on  in  the  morning." 

The  girl's  eyes  sought  his,  full  of  passionate  en- 
treaty. 

"  Will  you  not  tell  me  your  name  % "  she  asked 
softly. 

"  My  mother  calls  me  Ernesto,"  was  the  answer. 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said.  Dorus  stepped 
forward  impulsively  and  extended  her  hand: 

"  Will  you  not  say  good-bye  ?  " 

Ernesto's  face  might  have  been  hewn  of  stone,  so 
cold  and  impassive  was  it.  He  looked  as  he  had 
looked  a  hundred  times,  passionless  and  unrespon- 
sive, as  he  was  when  he  faced  a  large  audience. 
But  behind  the  calm  exterior  was  the  memory  of 
the  electric  thrill  that  had  come  at  the  touch  of  her 
sleeve,  and  he  shrank  from  clasping  the  little  pink 
hand.  If,  on  a  crowded  thoroughfare  like  Forty- 
second  Street,  with  the  commotion  and  the  various 
distracting  disturbances  about  him,  and  with  no  pre- 
monition of  her  coming,  he  had  felt  such  wonderful 

94 


Two  Men  and  a  Maid 


ecstasy  from  the  simple  brushing  of  sleeve  to  sleeve, 
what  might  it  not  be  now,  with  every  nerve  and  fibre 
awake  to  her  presence?  He  drew  back  from  the 
outstretched  hand. 

"  My  hands  must  not  touch  yours,"  he  said,  as 
naturally  as  he  could.  "  I  have  been  picking  flow- 
ers and  digging  up  ferns  in  the  woods,  so  that  mine 
are  too  earthy  to  touch  your  white  ones." 

Quite  overwrought,  one  hand  hanging  at  his  side, 
the  other  closed  about  his  violin,  none  knew  the 
struggle  it  was  to  keep  his  hand  from  taking  the 
little,  frail,  confiding  one  reached  out  to  him. 

"With  a  backward  tilt  of  her  head  and  a  low  cry, 
the  girl  sprang  forward  and  laid  her  hands  gently 
on  the  lapels  of  his  coat. 

He  made  a  strong  effort  to  release  himself.  With 
white  lips,  he  pushed  her  back: 

"  Be  careful,  child." 

"  The  risk  is  mine,"  was  the  answer,  low,  and 
deep,  and  steady. 

With  her  hands,  she  touched  his  face,  his  arm,  his 
hands. 

"  Oh,  destiny,"  she  cried.  That  I  could  go  with 
you — and  you  could  play,  and  I  could  sing.  If  I 
were  a  poor  girl,  then  I  could  speak — then  I  would 

dare  tell  you  how  much —     Oh !  Ernesto — go " 

95 


The  Letter  H 


She  pushed  him  away  from  her,  and  with  the  soul 
of  sorrow  in  her  eyes,  she  watched  him  go — out  into 
the  soft,  balmy  sunshine.  Out  between  the  twin 
cedars  he  passed  slowly. 

"  Ernesto !     Come  back  " — it  was  only  a  whisper. 


chapter  vrn 

TRACES   OF  AN   INHERITANCE 

Dorus  slept  but  ill  when  her  aunt  sent  her  to  her 
room  for  a  nap  before  dinner,  and  her  first  thought 
on  waking  was  not  about  the  great  ball,  but  about 
the  musician.  The  reflection  of  her  face  in  the 
mirror  startled  her.  There  were  signs  of  tears  in 
her  eyes,  and  something  in  her  expression  puzzled 
her.  She  wondered  what  force  had  compelled  her 
to  act  as  she  had  done;  yet  she  realized  that  the 
entire  scene  would  be  repeated  should  the  same  con- 
ditions present  themselves  again.  Dorus  was  much 
given  to  analyzing  her  motives,  but  this — it  was  un- 
precedented, and  without  explanation. 

She  felt  that  it  was  some  trick  of  inheritance,  some 
force  generated  centuries  before.  Mentally,  she 
tried  to  enumerate  her  ancestors.  The  Harlingtons, 
with  their  long  line  of  American  heroes  and  hero- 
ines; and  far  back  in  England  to  the  Norman  rule — 
centuries  of  bravery,  and  honor,  and  valorous  deeds 
— was  it  there?    And  her  mother's  family — Creoles ! 

97 


The  Letter  H 


There  was  a  shudder  and  a  gasp  as  Doras  realized 
that  she  knew  not  one  thing  about  her  mother's 
family.  Her  brows  contracted  somberly,  and  the 
gray  eyes  grew  deep  and  fathomless  as  she  tried  to 
reason  why  she  had  never  been  told  more  about 
them.  They  had  kept  her  mind  full  of  the  thoughts 
of  the  greatness  of  one  side  of  her  ancestry — was 
the  other  sprung  from  less  than  common  soil  ?  Were 
they  underlings? — but  Lenore  was  not — and  her 
mother's  portrait!  Surely  there  was  nothing  low 
or  sordid  there.  What  could  be  the  reason  for  this 
secrecy?    Doras  pondered. 

It  seemed  years  since  the  first  low  note  of  the 
"  Traumerei,"  with  its  portentous  minor  chords -and 
its  plaintive  prelude  of  impending  ill,  had  come 
softly  from  beyond  the  shadow  of  the  twin  cedars. 
The  years  in  Europe  were  as  a  dream,  consuming  in 
time  but  the  space  of  the  closing  of  an  eye.  Op- 
pressing her  with  the  burden  of  its  reality,  only  the 
consciousness  that  she  had  made  the  decision  of  her 
life  was  clear,  and  that,  forever,  her  soul  was  linked 
to  that  of  the  musician.  Everything  else  seemed 
unreal.  Even  the  degradation  of  being  coldly  re- 
pulsed was  secondary  now.  Uppermost  was  the 
thought  that  she  had  driven  him  from  her.     Life 


Traces  of  an  Inheritance 


with  him  near  seemed  impossible — but  infinitely 
more  so  was  life  in  which  he  had  no  part.  He  was 
only  a  musician,  and  with  this  thought  came  into 
her  memory  the  words  that  she  had  said  to  Lenore — 
"we  shall  meet,  and  when  we  do,  be  he  king  or 
beggar,  I  shall  love  him." 

The  afternoons  were  long,  and  being  unable  to 
rest,  Dorus  walked  out  into  the  open,  intending  to 
take  a  short  stroll  before  the  evening  meal.  In  the 
absorption  of  her  thoughts,  she  wandered  a  consid- 
erable distance  from  the  house.  When  she  paused, 
her  mind  was  suddenly  distracted  from  her  painful 
thoughts  by  the  beautiful  vista  that  opened  before 
her.  Trees  warm  and  green  with  the  indescribable 
warmth  and  greenness  of  June,  the  sky  infinite  in 
its  blueness,  and  beyond,  through  the  brown  tree 
trunks  and  boughs,  the  grand  old  Hudson  twinkling 
and  glistening  in  the  afternoon  sun.  Dorus  stood 
in  the  woodland  path,  transfixed  by  the  stilly  gran- 
deur that  spread  before  her  vision. 

A  creaking  of  twigs  and  branches  recalled  her  to 
herself,  and  she  turned  expectantly  to  the  point  from 
which  the  noise  came.  As  Ernesto  broke  through, 
Dorus  paled.  With  proximity  to  the  musician,  all 
the  uncontrollable  passion  of  her  soul  broke  loose 

99 


The  Letter  H 


again.  Her  face  became  instantly  surcharged  with, 
feeling,  and  her  hands  caught  at  her  skirts  fever- 
ishly. 

"  Ernesto !  "  The  name  slipped  gently  from  her 
lips. 

Del  Tonjours  questioned  her  agitation  with  a  look, 
and  extended  a  handkerchief,  a  fine  and  dainty  trifle, 
towards  her. 

"  I  found  it  in  the  path,"  he  said;  "  it  is  yours,  I 
think." 

Dorus  hesitated,  then  stepped  towards  him  with 
an  evident  effort  to  appear  unconcerned. 

"  Yes,  it  is  mine,"  she  said  nervously.  "  I  must 
have  dropped  it.     Thank  you." 

Del  Tonjours  acknowledged  her  thanks  with  a 
slight  bow,  and  moved  forward  as  if  to  pass  on 
through  the  woods  to  the  path. 

Dorus  lifted  her  shoulders  with  a  characteristic 
motion  and  called  him  back  imperatively : 

"  Stay,  please,  I  wish  to  speak  with  you." 

As  Ernesto  turned  and  regarded  her  with  his 
serious,  dark  eyes,  she  lost  control  of  herself,  and 
with  a  little  cry  held  her  hands  out  to  him. 

' "  Ernesto !    Ernesto !  "  she  cried  pitifully,  "  what 
can  you  think  of  me  ? " 

100 


Traces  qf  an  Inheritance 


What  lie  thought,  Ernesto  kept  to  himself. 

"  You  are  weeping,"  was  all  that  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  she  cried  passionately,  "  bitter  tears 
of  shame  and  remorse.  Tell  me,  do  you  think  me 
silly — or  base  ?  " 

There  was  no  avoiding  the  issue. 

"  I  think  you  are  neither,"  he  said  slowly;  "  you 
are  in  grief." 

"  You  are  not  answering  me,"  cried  the  girl, 
stamping  her  foot.  "  You  are  a  man,  you  think — 
you  know.  From  your  eyes  I  can  tell  you  believe  me 
one  or  the  other.  I  have  gone  too  far  to  recall  my 
words  or  explain  my  actions.  I  could  not  if  I  would. 
It  is  past  my  knowledge,  heaven  knows.  Could  the 
birds  tell  why  they  fly  southward  in  the  autumn? 
Do  the  coral  insects  know  why  they  build  their  reefs  ? 
It  is  instinct,  and  this,  too,  is  an  instinct  I  cannot 
explain.    Tell  me,  what  did  you  think  of  me  ?  " 

While  Ernesto  felt  the  irresistible  attraction  that 
had  filled  his  being  at  their  first  meeting  and  every 
moment  he  had  been  near  her  since,  the  explanation 
of  her  actions  had  but  one  meaning  for  him — but 
he  looked  into  the  clear  gray  eyes,  with  their  earnest, 
eager  questioning — and  that  he  could  not  tell  her. 

"  You  were,  perhaps — amusing  yourself,"  he  said 
hesitatingly. 

101 


The  Letter  H 


Doras  looked  up,  astonished. 

"  At  your  expense  ? "  she  asked,  so  ingenuously 
that  del  Tonjours  was  sorry  he  had  not  advanced 
eome  other  hypothesis. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  said,  extricating  himself  as 
best  he  could ;  "  but  if  you  were,  it  doesn't  matter. 
I  don't  pretend  to  understand  or  find  fault  with  a 
woman's  moods." 

Both  stood  silent  a  moment.  Once  more  Ernesto 
turned  to  go. 

"  Stay,"  cried  the  girl  a  second  time,  a  daring 
look  in  her  eyes.  She  put  out  her  little  hand  and 
laid  it  on  Ernesto's  coat  sleeve : 

"  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you.  If  you  will  grant 
it,  it  will  enable  me  to  prove  that  I  never  intended 
to  make  fun  of  you.     Will  you  grant  it  ? " 

The  frank  face,  upturned  to  the  musician's,  ap- 
pealed irresistibly  to  the  inborn  chivalry  of  the  man. 

"  I  dare  not  promise,"  he  said  slowly.  "  It  might 
not  be  in  my  power  to  do  as  you  wish." 

Desire  made  Dorus  courageous.  She  was  more 
earnest  than  ever. 

"  As  you  no  doubt  think,"  she  began,  "  I  have 
strange  moods  and  fancies.  You  must  not  be  sur- 
prised at  what  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  do.     To- 

102 


Traces  of  an  Inheritance 


night, — as  I  told  you  before — there  is  to  be  a  party 
at  my  father's  house.  It  is  to  be  a  welcome  home 
for  me,  his  only  daughter,  on  my  return  from  Eu- 
rope.    I  want  you  to  be  present — will  you  come  ?  " 

Ernesto  started.  He  was  amazed  at  the  daring 
of  the  girL  The  man  does  not  live  who  is  uncon- 
scious of  youth,  and  vitality,  and  beauty.  Ernesto 
was  no  exception.  Mysterious  as  he  felt  his  con- 
nection with  her  to  be,  he  dared  not  have  it  flaunted 
in  the  very  eyes  of  all  the  people  of  the  countryside. 

"  I  must  not,"  he  replied.  "  What  would  your 
friends  think?    You  do  not  even  know  who  I  am." 

"  I — I  have  set  my  heart  on  your  being  there  to- 
night" Her  tone  was  pleading.  "  I  have  a  plan; 
if  you  will  follow  it  implicitly  it  will  be  all  right,  I 
can  assure  you.     You  are  an  Italian  ?  " 

"  No.  My  father — I  mean  my  mother — and  I  are 
Mexicans." 

"  I  have  travelled  a  great  deal  in  Italy,"  said 
Dorus,  "  and  I  thought  you  an  Italian.  Others  will 
think  so  if  you  say  your  name  is  Signor  Brindelli — 
now  remember,"  she  continued  eagerly,  "  Signor 
Arturo  Brindelli.     Now,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Ernesto,"  was  the  answer,  a  flash  of  mischief  in 
the  man's  eyes. 

103 


The  Letter  H 


Both  laughed,  and  the  girl  shook  her  finger  at 
him. 

"  Naturally,"  she  declared;  but  for  to-night  what 
is  it  to  be  %    Can  you  remember  ?  " 

Ernesto  took  a  step  back,  and  lifting  his  cap,  made 
a  sweeping  bow: 

"  To  please  a  lady's  fancy,  Signor  Arturo  Brin- 
delli." 

Doras  clapped  her  hands  ecstatically. 

"  Capital,"  she  cried;  " you  do  it  just  as  he  did!  " 

"  He  ?     Who  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  Why,  the  real  Signor  Brindelli,  of  course,"  she 
laughed  back.  "  Sit  down,  and  I  will  tell  you  about 
him." 

Close  to  the  spot  where  they  stood  was  a  huge,  flat 
boulder.  In  one  side  of  it  was  as  perfect  a  divan 
as  one  might  find  in  Nature's  workship,  hewn  out 
in  some  past  age  when  the  rocks  were  torn  from  the 
bosom  of  the  earth,  and  smoothed  over  by  the  action 
of  the  sunshine,  and  the  wind,  and  the  rain,  during 
the  years  that  it  had  lain  still  and  immovable.  Upon 
it,  the  afternoon  sunshine  lay  in  a  gold  stream,  and 
looking  like  a  lady  in  a  picture,  Doras  stood  beside 
it.  In  the  slanting  gold  that  kissed  her,  her  face 
was  framed  in  an  aureole  of  sunny  gleams,  and  be- 

104 


Traces  of  an  Inheritance 


neath  the  dark  lashes  her  eyes  shone  with  a  light  that 
was  half  winsome,  half  wild.  She  placed  her  white 
hands  on  the  rock,  and  with  a  pretty  motion  perched 
herself  upon  it,  making  room  for  the  musician  by 
drawing  the  fluffy  ruffles  of  her  skirt  close  about  her. 

He  was  only  a  man,  after  all,  and  it  would  have 
taken  the  strength  of  a  god  to  resist  the  winsomeneea 
of  the  girl's  invitation.  Ernesto's  eyes  narrowed, 
and  he  gave  a  quick,  articulate  sigh  as  he  watched 
her,  but  he  took  his  place  beside  her  without  a  word. 
To  his  hot,  impulsive  Latin  blood,  the  contact  with 
her  cool  soft  gown,  the  faint,  elusive  fragrance  of 
violets  that  seemed  to  hover  near  her,  the  charm  of 
her  soft  southern  voice  were  maddening.  He  won- 
dered vaguely  why  he  did  not  end  it  all  at  once  and 
leave  the  girl  without  courtesy  or  explanation.  He 
wondered  what  was  the  power  that  impelled  him  on- 
ward in  this  mad  flirtation;  for  in  his  saner  moments 
he  felt  it  to  be  such. 

There  was  something  about  this  strange  girl  that 
attracted  the  man,  in  spite  of  his  better  judgment. 
He  shuddered  and  wondered  if  it  was  not  all  some 
passing  dream.  He  could  not  understand  her.  He 
could  not  understand  himself.  She  was  so  frail  and 
dainty,  educated,  rich,  beautiful;  while  he  was  but 

105 


The  Letter  H 


beginning  the  struggle  for  the  art  which  he  adored. 
He  realized  the  infinite  distance  between  them  and 
rebelled.  With  a  wave  of  passion,  came  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  one  thing  which  alone  put  the  uni- 
verse between  them.  It  was  his  mother's  name  and 
not  his  father's  that  he  bore.  Yet,  here  he  was, 
sitting  close  beside  this  beautiful  girl,  forced  almost 
to  touch  her  at  every  movement. 

Tacitly,  but  none  the  less  determinedly,  he  faced 
the  problem  of  how  he  was  to  evade  the  love  of  the 
girl  when  his  whole  body  and  soul  revolted  at  eva- 
sion. 

After  Ernesto  had  seated  himself  beside  her,  she 
became  quiet.  She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her 
reason  for  asking  him  to  stay. 

"  Is  it  not  beautiful,  this  homeland  ?"  she  asked 
irrelevantly. 

"  For  your  homeland,  yes,"  he  spoke  slowly;  "  but 
I  have  none." 

She  turned,  with  quick  sympathy. 

"  None  ?  "  she  questioned.  Then  added,  "  Not 
none,  but  all." 

"  It  is  only  so  to  those  who  have  a  home,  like  you," 
lie  said  bitterly.  "  You  say  all,  but  we  of  the 
nomads  can  only  say  none." 

106 


Traces  of  an  Inheritance 


The  girl  flushed :  "  It  is  yours  for  the  asking," 
and  she  pointed  where  the  river  lay  blue  and  beauti- 
ful in  the  calm  of  the  late  afternoon. 

The  Mexican's  shoulders  squared,  and  again  his 
eyes  narrowed.  She  could  not  dream  how  hard  it 
was  to  refuse  the  gift. 

A  silence  fell  upon  them.  For  her,  the  struggle 
seemed  to  be  over.  Kear  to  him,  she  yielded  to  the 
magnetism  that  drew  her;  and  the  pain  and  the  sor- 
row that  had  torn  her  with  anxiety  and  fear  when 
he  was  away  she  remembered  as  in  a  dream.  In 
Ernesto  there  was  a  dogged  determination  to  see  the 
game  to  the  finish,  but  to  commit  himself  in  no  way. 

At  last  the  silence  was  broken. 

"I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  Brindelli,"  Dorua 
began.  <rKe  saved  me  from  being  killed  by  a  run- 
away, so  I  really  owe  my  life  to  him.  Do  you  know" 
— she  turned  to  the  Mexican,  and  her  voice  was  dan- 
gerously low  and  soft — "  do  you  know,  even  while  I 
was  trying  to  persuade  myself  to  care  for  him,  I  was 
thinking  of  you,  Ernesto.  I  must  have  seen  you  and 
known  you  in  some  other  world,  for  I've  loved  you — 
how  I  have  loved  you ! — for  years." 

It  was  as  though  she  had  made  a  remark  upon  the 
weather,  so  quietly  had  she  said  it.    The  man  drew 

107 


The  Letter  H 


himself  away.  When  a  goddess  tells  a  slave  that 
she  loves  him,  the  slave  would  do  well  to  annihilate 
himself  rather  than  show  a  similar  passion  for  the 
goddess. 

Doras  noticed  the  motion  and  restrained  herself. 

"  You  will  come  to-night,  will  you  not  ?  As  my 
guest,  my  equal — nay,  my  superior?  Think  your- 
self, for  this  one  evening,  an  Italian  gentleman — 
imagine  me  a  poor  country  girL" 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  it  would  be  impossible  to  imagine 
you  anything  but  what  you  are — rich  and  beautiful." 

Dorus's  lips  quivered.  "  Bich — and  you  are  poor. 
I  had  forgotten.  But  you  are  to  be  an  Italian  gentle- 
man. Signor  Brindelli  was  very  rich,  so  you  are  a 
millionaire  for  to-night." 

Ernesto  smiled.  "Very  well,  I  will  come.  And  I 
hope  your  friends  will  find  me  very  like  a  real  Italian 
gentleman." 

"To-night  we  must  forget  everything  but  our  new- 
found, but,  alas,  short-lived  happiness.  You  will 
not  fail  me  ?"  she  went  on,  anxiously. 

Ernesto  bowed  slowly  as  he  said,  "I  will  be  there." 

With  a  quick,  impulsive  movement,  he  disappeared 
through  the  bracken  as  he  had  come.  Doras  turned 
to  the  stone  once  more  and  rested  her  head  upon  its 
lichen-grown  top. 

106 


Traces  of  an  Inheritance 


"Oh,  destiny!  Oh,  destiny!"  she  cried,  pitifully. 
Ernesto  was  gone,  and  the  love  and  contentment 
that  had  buoyed  her  up  in  his  presence  fell  from  her 
like  a  garment.  And  once  more,  in  a  hopeless,  irre- 
sistible wave — the  pity  of  it — and  the  pain  of  it — 
and  the  degradation — swept  over  her  soul. 


109 


CHAPTER  IX 


A   CHANCE   ENCOUNTER 


When  Ernesto  broke  through  the  branches  his 
mind  was  full  of  strange,  wild  thoughts,  as  it  had 
been  since  he  had  first  seen  the  love-light  dancing 
in  the  eyes  of  this  bewitching,  beautiful  girl.  In 
the  morning  the  search  to  which  he  had  consecrated 
his  life — the  finding  of  his  father  and  the  forcing 
of  justice  for  his  mother — was  the  thought  upper- 
most in  his  mind.  Yet  before  the  day  was  over  a 
slip  of  a  girl,  with  eyes  whose  expression  was  ever- 
changing,  which  were  soft  and  tender,  cool  or  pas- 
sionate, at  will;  and  which  were  full  of  world  love 
and  heaven  love — a  girl  whose  very  name  was 
6trange  to  him — had  upset  all  his  plans.  Had,  in 
fact,  with  the  wonder  of  her  presence,  supplanted 
everything  that  he  had  ever  thought  worth  while. 
He  tried  to  conjure  up  her  picture,  and,  fresh  from 
his  interview  with  her,  it  came  readily.  He  mar- 
velled at  the  miracle  of  her  hair,  and  wondered  if  he 
had  ever  seen  hair  of  just  that  tint  before.    In  the 

110 


A  Chance  Encounter 


shadow  there  had  been  no  suggestion  of  bronze,  so 
soft  it  was  and  dull;  and  yet  he  had  seen  the  sun- 
shine dancing  over  it  and  turning  it  to  a  brown 
that  was  full  of  fire  and  Hying  glory.  He  remem- 
bered the  unconventional  arrangement  of  her  dress, 
as  though  her  costume  had  been  copied  from  the 
fashion  of  other  days — the  fine  lace  about  the  slen- 
der, soft  pillar  of  her  neck,  showing  the  little  hollow 
that  seemed  made  to  be  kissed.  She  was  so  ethereal 
that  she  seemed  made  out  of  the  sunshine  and  the 
air;  and  the  soft  texture  of  her  skin,  the  cream  of 
her  complexion,  the  dull  tone  of  her  hair,  seemed 
one  with  the  atmosphere. 

Ernesto  had  but  just  gone  beyond  hearing  distance 
of  the  girl,  when  a  shout  and  a  crash  as  of  a  heavy 
body  falling  arrested  his  attention.  Peering  through 
the  trees,  he  saw,  not  twenty  feet  from  him,  in  the 
opening  of  the  forest,  a  big  bay  horse,  stretched  on 
the  ground,  his  body  heaving  in  great  gasps.  Held 
down  by  the  entanglement  of  the  reins  and  the  stir- 
rup, with  one  leg  under  the  animal,  was  a  young 
man.  Ernesto  hurried  forward,  and,  jumping  lightly 
over  the  accumulated  brush  and  stones,  reached  the 
scene;  and  with  little  difficulty  succeeded  in  ex- 
tricating the  young  man  from  his  awkward  position. 

Ill 


The  Letter  H 


The  latter  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  as  he  shook 
himself  free  from  the  duet  which  clung  to  his  clothes. 

"  Thank  you  sincerely,"  he  said  at  last,  frankly 
holding  out  his  hand.  "You  arrived  just  in  the  nick 
of  time." 

They  bent  their  attention  to  the  horse,  which  lay 
in  a  quivering  heap,  its  great  eyes  already  glassy 
and  staring.  The  neck  was  broken  and  there  seemed 
nothing  to  be  done. 

The  horseman  turned  once  more  to  Ernesto.  "That 
was  a  narrow  escape,"  he  said.  "I  nearly  broke  my 
own  neck  as  well  as  poor  old  Dan's.  I  thought  he 
could  take  that  wall.  Poor  old  Danbury.  He  was 
such  a  good  horse,  and  so  game." 

"Are  you  hurt  ?"  asked  Ernesto. 

"Nothing  serious,  oniy  a  little  lame,"  was  the 
answer.  "The  horse  fell  across  my  right  leg  when 
we  dropped,  and  I  should  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it 
getting  free  but  for  your  opportune  arrival." 

He  looked  at  the  horse  again.  "  You  are  sure  the 
horse  is  dead?" 

"He  is  dead,"  was  Ernesto's  grave  reply.  "His 
neck  is  broken." 

"How  can  I  repay  you  for  your  assistance  ?"  said 
the  horseman  kindly.    "Are  you  staying  near  here  f 

112 


A  Chance  Encounter 


As  lie  spoke  he  drew  his  card  case  from  his  pocket 
and  took  out  a  card. 

"There  is  my  card — Herman  Higby,  son  off 
Colonel  Henry  Higby,  the  member  of  Congress  for 
the  Twentieth  New  York  District.  You  may  have 
heard  of  him.  I  shall  tell  my  father  of  your  kindness 
and  if  at  any  time  we  could  be  of  any  service  to  you 
call  upon  either  of  us — we  are  at  Mr.  Harlington's 
for  a  few  days,"  indicating  the  direction  of  the  old 
mansion  that  Ernesto  knew  only  too  well,  "  but  we 
live  at  Lake  George." 

As  he  moved  off  his  limp  was  very  perceptible. 
The  Mexican  sprang  to  assist  him,  "  You  are  very 
lame,"  he  cried.  "  Shall  I  go  with  you  to  Mr.  Har- 
lington's  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  was  the  answer.  "I  can  walk  this  off. 
Thank  you  very  much,  and  good-bye — till  we  meet 
again." 

The  men  clasped  hands,  and  Herman  limped 
towards  the  Harlington  house,  while  Ernesto  went 
on  down  the  road.  The  great  elms,  with  their  gigan- 
tic trunks,  reached  far  up,  while  above  spread  and 
interlaced  their  branches;  the  pale  blue  of  the  sky, 
glorified  with  the  rosy  glow  of  the  western  sun, 
showed  through  the  canopy  of  green.   Ernesto  went 

118 


The  Letter  H 


on  towards  the  village,  stepping  lightly  over  the  road- 
way, full  of  the  vigor  and  the  restlessness  of  youth. 

Meantime  Dorus,  in  the  little  woodland  nook,  had 
given  way  to  tears.  "He  does  not  love  me — he  does 
not  love  me,"  she  said  to  herself  over  and  over  again. 
In  the  shame  of  her  avowals  the  tears  had  come  ua- 
bidden.  She  did  not  realize  that,  as  yet,  she  alone 
of  the  Harlington  household  had  seen  the  violinist, 
and  that  the  secret  of  her  infatuation  belonged  to 
herself  and  the  Mexican.  When  it  at  last  dawned 
upon  her  that  to  all  the  others  she  was  still  the  same 
Dorus,  and  that  they  would  never  be  any  the  wiser 
unless  she  herself  enlightened  them,  a  great  resolve 
was  formed  in  her  mind.  They  should  not  know, 
unless — if  Ernesto  should — but  no!  she  could  trust 
him — he  would  never  speak. 

Again  the  crackling  of  the  dried  twigs  and 
branches  aroused  her  as  it  had  when  Ernesto  had 
found  her  there,  and  the  girl  peered  through  the 
trees,  almost  expecting  to  see  the  dark,  handsome 
face  of  the  violinist  a  second  time.  She  started  as 
Lenore  broke  through  into  the  little  woodland  bower ; 
her  face,  which  was  clouded  with  anxiety,  cleared 
as  she  caught  sight  of  the  girl  behind  the  table-rock. 

"Oh,  there  you  are,  Dorus,"  she  cried ;  "we  did  not 
know  where  you  had  gone." 

114 


A  Chance  Encounter 


Traces  of  tears  were  still  visible  in  the  girl's  eyes, 
but  Lenore's  expression  of  surprise  did  not  encour- 
age Dorus  to  make  a  confession  of  the  happenings  of 
the  last  few  minutes. 

"Weeping,  Dorus  ?"  the  aunt  went  on.  "Are  you 
ill — or  only  frightened?" 

The  girl  remained  silent,  and  Lenore  felt  hurt. 
When  she  spoke  again  there  was  a  touch  of  bitter- 
ness in  her  tone.  When  a  woman  is  hurt  she  shows 
it  in  one  of  two  ways ;  if  she  is  wounded  by  her  lover 
she  weeps — if  by  anyone  else  she  scolds. 

"You  were  not  alone?"  Lenore  questioned,  se- 
verely. "I  saw  some  one  leaving  you  as  I  came  along 
the  path." 

The  girl  in  silence  rested  her  head  upon  her  arm 
as  she  leaned  on  the  top  of  the  rock. 

"Who  was  he  ?  And  what  did  he  say  to  you  ?"  in- 
sisted the  aunt,  with  growing  indignation.  Still  the 
silence,  unbroken,  but  for  the  gay  chattering  of  the 
birds  in  the  tree-houses. 

"  Dorus,  why  don't  you  answer  me  ?"  Miss  Clifton 
stepped  to  the  girl's  side  and  laid  her  hand  upon  the 
brown  head. 

"  Thoughtless  girl,  we  have  been  looking  every- 
where for  you.     Why  did  you  come  to  this  lonely 

115 


The  Letter  H 


place  ?"    After  a  little  pause,  she  went  on :  "  What 
did  that  rude  person  say  to  you,  my  child  ?" 

Dorus  looked  up,  her  face  flaming.  "  Person  f 
she  repeated  sharply. 

"  Yes,  that  man.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  him.  I 
am  quite  certain  he  was  rude  to  you — else,  why  these 
tears?" 

Dorus  bit  her  lip.  Her  face  still  flushed  and  her 
eyes  flashed,  but  she  controlled  herself. 

"  No  one  has  been  rude  to  me,  Auntie,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"  But  why  did  you  come  here  alone  ? "  the  aunt 
went  on. 

"  I  came  for  a  walk,"  the  girl  answered  hotly. 

"  Not  with  him  ?"  persisted  Miss  Clifton.  "  Who 
was  the  man  I  saw  ? " 

"  Might  it  not  have  been  Herman — looking  for 
me?" 

"  Herman  has  been  looking  for  you — riding  up 
and  down  the  road  on  Dan.  But  it  was  not  Herman. 
If  so,  why  did  he  leave  you — and  in  tears  ?  Was  it 
Herman,  Dorus?" 

"No." 

"  Who  was  it?" 

"  Oh,  Auntie,  do  not  question  me  now,"  said  the 
girl.    "  Let  us  go  home." 

116 


A  Chance  Encounter 


In  Miss  Clifton's  features  a  storm  was  gathering. 
She  was  angered  with  her  niece,  and  felt  the  neces- 
sity of  obliging  her  to  answer. 

"  Doras,  I  am  pained  beyond  expression,"  she 
asserted,  with  an  air  of  severity.  "  Is  it  possible 
that  you  can  have  secrets  from  me — you,  whom  I 
have  so  loved  and  trusted?  What  am  I  to  think? 
I  command  you  to  tell  me  who  that  person  was." 

All  the  passion  that  had  been  growing  in  the  girl 
burst  out  at  this.  "  You  command  me  ?"  she  cried. 
"  Then  let  me  tell  you  that  you  have  no  right  to 
command  me.  I  will  not  tell  you.  I  am  no  longer 
a  child.  If  I  choose  to  have  secrets,  you,  at  least, 
cannot  prevent  it." 

Doras  stood  facing  her  aunt,  her  shoulders  back, 
and  her  head  held  high.    Lenore  was  furious. 

"  Then  I  shall  go  to  your  father.  Do  you  imagine 
that  he  would  allow  you  to  meet  secretly  any  person 
whom  he  does  not  know?" 

"  I  dare  you  to  go  to  him  with  a  story  like  that." 

"  What  story  ?"  Lenore  looked  frightened. 

"  That  I  am  meeting  any  one  clandestinely  so 
soon  after  my  return  home.  You  dare  not  tell  him 
such  a  preposterous  thing,  for  you  know  he  would 
not  believe  you.     Neither  has  he  appointed  you  to 

117 


The  Letter  H 


spy  upon  my  actions.  I  will  do  what  I  like,  unless 
papa  forbids  it." 

Lenore  was  startled  at  the  girl's  defiance. 

"Oh,  Dorus,"  she  said  sadly,  and  there  were  signs 
of  tears  in  her  eyes,  "you  have  never  spoken  like 
this  to  me  before.  Ever  since  you  lay  in  my  arms,  a 
poor,  motherless  baby,  I  have  loved  and  oared  for 
you.  I  had  thought  that  you  loved  me  and  would 
confide  in  me  as  you  would  have  done  in  your  own 
mother.  But  you  do  not  need  me  any  longer."  She 
turned  away  sadly. 

Under  the  softness  and  gentleness  of  the  older 
woman's  voice,  the  defiance  in  the  girl's  attitude  gave 
way  to  another  emotion. 

"  Oh,  Auntie,"  she  cried,  springing  after  Miss  Clif- 
ton, "  I  do  need  you.  I  could  not  live  without  you. 
You  know  I  love  you  as  if  you  were  my  own  mother. 
Forgive  me — I  did  not  mean  to  wound  you.  Won't 
you  trust  me  a  little  while  longer,  Auntie?  Some- 
time I  will  tell  you  all — but  not  now.  Say  you  for- 
give me." 

"I  forgive  you,  dear,  and  I  will  wait  until  you  are 
ready  to  confide  in  me." 

The  lips  of  the  older  woman  touched  the  girl's 
forehead.    Then,  noticing  how  damp  the  atmosphere 

118 


A  Chance  Encounter 


had  grown,  she  said,  "  Come,  Dorus,  let  us  hurry  in. 
The  dew  is  falling  and  you  are  shivering." 

She  took  Dorus  by  the  hand  as  though  she  feared 
that  she  would  again  escape  her,  and  together  they 
started  through  the  woods  towards  Harlington  HalL 


:\o 


CHAPTEK  X 


TWO   GUESTS   FROM   ITALY 


Ernesto  made  his  way  down  the  road  towards  the 
little  town  which  lay  nestling  between  the  hills  and 
the  river.  He  was  all  unconscious  of  the  picturesque 
forest  vistas  and  of  the  last  faint  rosy  gleams  of  the 
sun  filtering  through  the  lacework  of  the  arching 
elms.  The  brambled  berry  bushes  at  the  roadside; 
the  daisies  nodding  to  him  from  the  field;  even  the 
woman  behind  him,  striving  vainly  to  attract  his  at- 
tention and  to  catch  up  with  him,  were  unnoticed. 
His  head  up,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his 
thoughts  still  with  the  girl  whom  he  had  left  so 
shortly  before,  he  moved  on,  careless  and  unconscious 
of  all  else. 

It  seemed  almost  as  though  she  had  just  gone. 
Ernesto  already  thought  of  her  as  alone,  apart  from 
others — the  one  woman  in  the  world.  The  faint  fra- 
grance of  violet  that  was  as  much  a  part  of  her 
personality  as  her  soft  southern  accent,  seemed  to 
linger  about  him  and  compelled  him  more  forcibly 
to  conjure  up  the  sweet,  sad  face  of  the  girl  as  he 


Two  Guests  from  Italy 


had  last  seen  it — soft,  but  suffused  with  animation, 
and,  he  thought  it  reverently,  with  love.  He  called 
it  that  for  lack  of  a  better  name,  for  even  though  it 
was  such  a  strange,  unusual  love,  it  seemed  none  the 
less  sacred  to  him. 

"Ernesto!   Ernesto!" 

He  turned  and  saw  his  mother.  She  was  breath- 
less from  walking  far  faster  than  her  wont  in  the 
effort  to  overtake  him. 

"  Ernesto !  "  there  was  dismay  in  the  voice.  "  I 
am  all  out  of  breath.  I've  been  calling  to  you,  but 
I  could  not  make  you  hear — and  you  walk  so  fast," 
ehe  went  on,  as  she  caught  up  with  him. 

Ernesto's  eyes  had  less  welcome  in  them  than 
probably  they  had  ever  shown  before  when  he  turned 
to  greet  his  beloved  mother.  But  she  did  not  notice. 
Indeed,  her  entire  attention  was  occupied  with  her 
dress,  which  had  caught  on  a  briar  and  was  torn.  It 
was  a  picturesque  dress  and  was  wondrously  becom- 
ing to  her.  She  had  pulled  a  cluster  of  wild  roses 
from  a  bush  and  thrust  them  into  her  corsage.  Her 
soft  hair  was  rumpled  a  bit,  and  her  cheeks  were 
flushed.  Even  the  pathetic  little  droop  at  the  corners 
of  her  mouth  was  hidden  by  a  half  smile  that  played 
about  her  lips. 

121 


The  Letter  H 


"  Oh,  June  1  June !"  she  cried,  lifting  her  face  to 
the  faint,  odorous  breeze,  as  she  fastened  the  torn 
place  deftly  with  a  pin.  "  Oh,  Youth !  Youth  1"  she 
finished,  looking  at  the  boy. 

For  the  first  time  she  caught  the  somber,  doubting 
expression  on  the  face  of  her  son. 

"  Why,  lad,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  Oarmelita's 
thoughts  went  no  farther  than  a  broken  string  of  the 
violin,  or  a  rebuff  from  the  listeners.  "  Where  have 
you  been  ?" 

Across  Ernesto's  consciousness  flashed  one  clear 
thought — Carmelita  must  not  know  of  the  girl's  in- 
fatuation.    So  he  said,  nonchalantly: 

"  I  wandered  near  that  big  gray  house,  and  the 
young  lady  heard  me  and  called  me  in.  She  wishes 
me  to  come  and  amuse  the  company  this  evening." 

Oarmelita  clapped  her  hands  with  childish  happi- 
ness. "  Good !  You  are  going  ?"  she  asked,  struck  by 
Ernesto's  expression. 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  Ernesto  wished  to  get  the 
conversation  away  from  Dorus,  so  he  added,  apropos 
of  nothing : 

"I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  pull  a  young 
man  from  under  his  horse,  which  had  fallen  on  him. 
He  gave  me  his  card." 

123 


Two  Guests  from  Italy 


Ernesto  fumbled  for  it.  "  He  lives  at  Mr.  Har- 
lington's." 

Camelita  started.    "  Harlington  ?"  she  cried. 

"  TTk  name,"  said  Ernesto,  "  is  Higby — son  of 
Colonel  Henry  Higby,  of " 

"  Great  God !"  cried  the  woman.  "  Harlington — 
and  Higby — here  ?" 

At  the  first  exclamation  Ernesto  glanced  at  his 
mother,  and  the  expression  on  her  face  brought  all 
the  passion  in  his  blood  to  the  fore.  His  eyes  glowed 
and  his  lips  tightened  in  response  to  the  appeal  in 
her  voice.  There  was  no  need  to  ask  the  meaning. 
While  Harlington  meant  nothing  to  him,  he  remem- 
bered like  a  flash  that  Higby  was  the  name  of  the 
man  in  search  of  whom  his  mother  had  spent  her  life. 
In  the  press  of  thoughts  that  were  new  to  him, 
Ernesto  had  failed  to  connect  the  Higby  of  the  inci- 
dent of  a  few  moments  before  with  that  other  Higby 
who  had  stood  to  him — since  he  had  learned  the  story 
— as  the  synonym  for  all  that  was  evil,  and  bad,  and 
vile.  Now,  at  the  sound  of  his  mother's  voice  as 
she  pronounced  the  names  together,  it  flashed  across 
his  mind  that  while  the  one  name  Higby  alone  would 
fail  to  identify  the  person,  its  association  with  Har- 
lington, a  much  rarer  name,   would  preclude  the 

128 


The  Letter  H 


possibility  of  a  mistake.  Through  all  the  long  years 
they  had  been  searching,  not  for  a  person  high  in 
the  counsels  of  his  country,  but  for  a  man  of  obscur- 
ity whose  name  was  Henry  Higby — never  had  they 
dreamed  that  the  Congressman,  whose  name  was 
the  same,  was  the  man  for  whom  they  sought. 

Now  Ernesto  knew.  This  was  the  Higby  of  whom 
they  were  in  search — the  search  which  would  have 
been  so  easy  of  accomplishment  had  they  but  con- 
nected the  two  and  gone  directly  to  the  War  Depart- 
ment; but  which  they  had  elected  to  conduct  in  this 
blind,  childish  way  of  travelling  from  place  to  place, 
in  the  hope  of  finding  him  by  chance.  There  was  not 
the  shadow  of  a  doubt  in  Ernesto's  mind  that,  at 
last,  they  were  on  the  eve  of  discovery.  Yet  it 
occurred  to  him,  curiously,  that  he  wished  it  had 
been  otherwise.  He  was  surprised  that  there  was  no 
thrill  of  triumph  in  his  heart  answering  to  his 
mother's  exultant  thought  that,  at  last,  justice  was 
at  hand.  Instead,  there  was  a  dull  dread  that  the 
girl  would  hear  of  it  and  despise  him.  He  felt  that 
he  would  rather  have  her  remember  him  as  the 
struggling  violinist  del  Tonjours  than  as  the 
neglected,  forgotten  son  of  Henry  Higby.  He  was 
vaguely  conscious  that  it  seemed  no  longer  his  affair ; 

124 


Two  Guests  from  Italy 


that,  already,  he  had  divorced  the  purpose  that  here- 
tofore had  been  his  life's  aim;  and  that  there  was 
something  infinitely  finer  and  as  infinitely  important 
at  the  end  of  his  ambition  than  Colonel  Henry 
Higby. 

All  this  while  he  watched  the  little  mother,  pacing 
like  a  caged  tigress  up  and  down  the  fairy-like  bower 
into  which  they  had  turned  from  the  highway.  Sud- 
denly she  stopped  before  her  son. 

"  Ernesto,"  she  said,  with  decision,  "  I  am  going 
with  you  to  Mr.  Harlington's  to-night  to  meet  the 
Messrs.  Higby — the  father  and  the  son.  I,  too,  can 
amuse  the  company." 

Like  a  flash  Ernesto  saw  what  it  would  mean 
should  she  carry  out  her  purpose.  She  must  be  pre- 
vented from  following  that  course. 

"  ~No,  mother,"  he  spoke  as  decidedly  as  she  had 
done,  "  you  must  not  go." 

"  I  shall  go,"  she  returned,  hotly. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  man,  not  at  a  loss  for  an  ex- 
planation, "  I  have  not  told  you  the  whole  truth.  I 
will  not  try  to  give  the  young  lady's  reasons,  for  I 
do  not  know  them,  but  she  wished  me  to  come  as  a 
guest  to  the  party  to-night.  I  am  not  to  play,  as  I 
led  you  to  suppose.  She  has  invited  me  as  she  might 
invite  any  gentleman  whom  she  knew." 

126 


The  Letter  H 


"  Such  an  informal  invitation  could  surely  include 
your  mother."    The  woman's  tone  was  haughty. 

"  But,  to  please  the  young  lady,  I  am  to  be  intro- 
duced as  Signor  Arturo  Brindelli,  an  Italian — a 
friend  whom  she  met  in  Italy."  Ernesto's  tone  was 
expostulatory. 

"  Then,  to  please  myself,"  cried  the  woman,  "  I 
will  be  introduced  as  the  Signora  Lucia  Brindelli — 
your  mother." 

"But,  mother,  she  may  be  angry." 

"  Let  her  be  angry.    I,  too,  can  be  angry." 

Carmelita  threw  back  her  head.  There  was  no 
sign  of  pathos  in  the  voice  now.  The  soft,  sympathy- 
inviting  eyes  were  blazing,  the  flush  on  her  cheeks 
was  angry,  every  fibre  of  her  body  was  quivering. 
A  woman's  wrath  makes  an  animal  of  her,  and  a 
wonderful,  beautiful  animal  the  Mexican  woman 
seemed  transformed  into,  as  the  light  of  her  great 
desire  was  shed  upon  her.  Ernesto  remembered 
having  seen  somewhere  a  painting  of  Deborah,  a 
Judge  of  Israel;  and  he  unconsciously  compared  the 
two,  thinking  that  there  was  only  a  slight  difference 
between  them;  despite  the  thousands  of  years 
gone  by. 

"  Ernesto,"  she  stopped  in  her  walk,  "  would  you 
like  to  see  your  father?" 

126 


Two  Guests  from  Italy 


For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  question  failed  to 
arouse  the  quick  temper. 

"  He  deserted  you,"  he  answered  dully.  "  He 
deserted  both  of  us.    I  have  no  love  for  him." 

"  Love !"  A  sudden  glory  of  scorn  sprang  to 
her  eyes.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  am  trying  to  find  him 
because  I  love  him  ?    It  is  because  I  hate  him." 

After  a  pause  she  spoke  again;  the  hardness  was 
gone  from  her  voice,  and  in  its  place  was  the  old 
tenderness. 

"  Come  to  me,  Ernesto." 

As  the  man  moved  towards  her  slowly,  once  more 
the  look  of  ineffable  sweetness  came  into  her  eyes, 
and  she  brushed  the  dark  hair  back  from  his  fore- 
head. She  pressed  her  lips  upon  the  scar — passion- 
ately— once,  twice. 

"  The  letter  H,"  she  whispered ;  "  Harlington — 
Higby— Hatred!" 

As  she  released  him,  the  last,  lingering  rays  of 
the  red  sun  went  down  beyond  the  hills;  and  the 
little  woodside  bower  grew  dark.    She  turned  swiftly. 

"  Come,  Ernesto,  we  must  go.  We  have  no  time 
to  lose.  Signor  Brindelli,  attend  your  mother." 
The  last  she  added  playfully,  but  the  man  knew  that 
her  mind  was  made  up  and  that  nothing  could  change 
her. 

137 


CHAPTER  XI 


ANOTHER   REBUFF 


Herman  limped  back  to  the  house,  taking  the  path 
through  the  woods.  He  felt  worse  over  the  death 
of  the  horse  than  he  cared  to  show,  and  his  thoughts 
were  still  on  the  poor  beast  when  he  came  in  sight 
of  Harlington  Hall.  Chinese  lanterns  were  being 
hung  from  tree  to  tree  and  about  the  veranda,  and 
he  made  out  the  forms  of  Lenore  Clifton  and 
the  General,  superintending  a  small  army  of  maids 
and  men. 

He  went  toward  them,  glad  enough,  manlike,  that 
he  had  walked  the  numbness  out  of  his  leg,  so  that 
he  would  not  be  the  object  of  a  lot  of  solicitude. 

"  Hasn't  Dorus  returned  ?"  he  called,  as  soon  as 
he  was  within  speaking  distance. 

But  before  he  could  be  answered  Dorus  herself 
came  to  the  French  window,  with  her  arms  piled 
full  of  June  roses.  The  melancholy  was  gone  from 
her  face,  and  she  seemed  her  own  sweet  self  again. 
The  old  quizzical,  bantering  expression  had  come 
again  into  the  brown  eyes.     It  was  a  fair  picture 

128 


Another  Rebuff 


that  she  made,  framed  by  the  wide  window  sash;  the 
background  hazy  and  dull,  the  shadows  deepening 
and  softening  the  outline  of  her  figure.  Herman  was 
up  the  steps  in  a  second,  his  heart  in  his  eyes. 

"  Which  are  the  fairest  I  cannot  tell,"  he  quoted 
softly,  his  eyes  on  the  mass  of  roses  in  her  arms.  He 
raised  his  gaze  from  the  flowers  to  her  face.  Its 
inestimable  sweetness  was  like  incense.  Involuntarily 
he  stretched  out  his  arms  towards  her,  and  the  glory 
of  his  awakening  passion  dawned  in  his  face.  He 
turned  the  seriousness  of  his  mood  away  with  an 
effort. 

"  Have  you  been  quietly  playing  mistress  here 
while  we  searched  the  forest  for  you,  Rosalind?" 
he  asked  playfully. 

"Was  it  Arden  ?"  she  returned,  archly. 

"  No,  for  there  was  no  Rosalind,"  he  spoke  seri- 
ously again,  "only  a  poor  copy  of  Orlando,  who  killed 
his  horse  searching  for  his  Rosalind.  Dan  is  dead. 
His  neck  was  broken  by  a  falL" 

"  Oh,  what  a  shame,"  cried  the  girl,  all  sympathy. 
"  Dear  old  Dan."  There  was  genuine  grief  in  her 
voice. 

"  I  believe  you're  more  sorry  for  the  horse  than 
you  are  for  me,"  said  the  man  jealously. 

139 


The  Letter  H 


"And  why  not?"  was  the  quick  question;  "you 
have  everything  you  can  ask  for — why  should  I  be 
sorry  for  you?" 

"  You're  mistaken."  The  man's  eyes  were  shin- 
ing steel  blue,  and  his  voice  was  grave.  "  I've  got 
everything  I  haven't  asked  for,  and  that  which  I 
want  more  than  anything  else  I — can't — even — ask 
—for." 

"  You  have  no  business  to  wish  for  what  you  can't 
have,"  was  the  short  reply. 

There  was  something  in  Herman's  face  as  the 
girl  turned  away  with  her  roses  that  would  have 
warned  her,  but  she  did  not  look.  His  lips  tightened 
and  his  eyes  narrowed.  When  it  is  a  woman  a  man 
wants,  the  chances  are  that  he  will  stop  at  nothing  to 
get  her.  He  watched  her  arrange  the  flowers  about 
the  hall — a  cluster  here — a  few  long-stemmed 
beauties  there — with  the  careless  grace  of  the  artist. 
The  big  fireplace  she  had  banked  with  green  vines, 
and  upon  the  clustering  honeysuckle  she  laid  a  mass 
of  red  Jacqueminot  roses.  As  she  knelt  before  the 
fireplace,  in  her  clinging,  cornflower  gown,  her  face 
nestled  against  the  soft  blush  of  the  flowers,  Herman 
caught  his  breath.  The  marvel  of  her  sweet,  sad 
beauty,    with    the   piquancy   of   her   ever-changing 

130 


Another  Rebuff 


moods,  had  worked  the  miracle  of  the  ages.  He 
leaned  against  the  window  sash,  his  thoughts  grow- 
ing more  maddeningly  sweet  each  moment  as  he 
watched  her.  She  finished  her  pretty  work,  and, 
turning,  saw  him  regarding  her  with  an  intent  ex- 
pressiom 

"  You  brute !  "  she  cried  laughingly. 

"  Please "  he  started. 

"  You  not  only  stand  there  without  lifting  a  hand 
to  help  me,  but  you  are  deliberately  laughing  at  my 
efforts." 

"  Dolly,"  it  was  the  old  baby  name  that  she  had 
not  heard  for  years. 

She  drew  herself  up  with  mock  haughtiness:  "  Not 
for  you  to  play  with." 

"  To  take  care  of,"  he  ventured,  emboldened  by 
her  attitude. 

"  Indeed,  then,"  she  said,  turning  to  her  vases,  "  I 
am  very,  very  well  able  to  take  care  of  myself.  So 
there  is  only  one,  and  not  two  dollies  for  you  to  look 
after." 

The  roses  were  very  absorbing  just  then.  She 
placed  them  here,  she  changed  them  to  another  posi- 
tion; and  she  laughed  over  her  shoulder  at  him  at 
every  turn.    The  violinist  seemed  forgotten. 

181 


The  Letter  H 


"  Did  you  think  of  me  often  while  in  Europe  ?"  he 
asked  wistfully. 

"  Oh,"  the  mischief  danced  in  her  face  as  she 
spoke,  but  her  lips  were  serious,  "  you  were  never 
out  of  my  mind." 

"  If  I  could  believe  you,  I  should  be  the  happiest 
man  on  earth." 

"  Well,  don't  believe  it,  then.  I  hate  to  see 
an  over-joyful  countenance." 

"  Did  you  mean  it,  Dorus  ?  " 

"  Silly !  Do  you  think  I  would  say  it  that  way  if 
I  did?" 

"  I'm  afraid  not;"  Herman  was  desperately  in 
earnest. 

"  I  came  near  bringing  a  title  home,"  she  said. 
"  Dad's  fortune  was  just  too  small." 

"  Thank  the  Lord !"  fervently. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  I  didn't  quite  catch  it." 

"  Oh,  nothing.  Simply  that  I  was  glad  you  hadn't. 
I  should  have  been  afraid  of  you." 

She  came  towards  him,  wistfully :  "Are  you  really 
glad  that  I'm  home  ?" 

"  Glad  ?  I  can't  find  words  to  tell  just  how  glad  I 
am." 

"  Try !"    How  tantalizing  she  was ! 
132 


Another  Rebuff 


Herman  went  white  to  the  lips.    She  was  so  near — 

so  frail,  so  sweet,  so  fair ! 

"  D-de  f-folkses  is  a'  comin',  M-miss  Doras !" 

"  D-d-dey's  a'  comin'  up  d-de  road,  Miss  Doras !  " 

"  Heavens !  the  guests !"  the  girl  turned  and  fled — 

nearly  upsetting  the  two  little  coons. 


133 


CHAPTEK  XH 

THE   DANCE   AT   HARLINGTON   HALL 

Lights  blazing  among  the  trees  and  on  the  veranda 
and  from  the  long  wide  windows;  everywhere  was 
heard  the  soft  strains  of  violin  and  harp,  the  musical 
sound  of  laughter  and  happy  chatter  of  gay  voices, 
the  rustle  of  silks,  and  the  nutter  of  fans.  The  dance 
was  on  at  Harlington  HalL  It  was  late  enough  for 
the  young  people  to  have  discovered  half-hidden 
nooks  and  corners  and  to  have  betaken  themselves 
off,  after  the  manner  of  youth,  to  listen  to  the  music 
— or  to  forget  it.  The  old  house  had  never  been  so 
gaily  decked  or  seen  so  gay  a  throng  of  guests. 

Roses  without  and  within  there  were,  and  the  fra- 
grance of  June  lilacs  and  honeysuckle  was  heavy 
on  the  air.  A  perfect  night  it  was,  and  the  entire 
countryside  had  turned  out  to  welcome  the  young 
mistress  of  Harlington  back  to  her  home  again. 
There  were  great  ladies  from  New  York  and  Albany, 
who  came  because  General  Harlington  was  a  power 
in  his  party;  there  were  the  young  girls  who  had 
been  Dorus's  playmates;  and  there  were  the  youths 

134 


The  Dance  at  Harlington  Hall 

who  crowded  there  because  of  the  pretty  maids  and 
because  Dorus  was  the  only  daughter  of  one  of  the 
jrichest  men  in  the  county. 

The  girl  herself  was  as  happy  as  a  lark.  Her 
guick,  ready  smile  came  and  went,  and  her  laugh 
was  the  merriest  in  the  room.  Travis,  her  friend  on 
the  voyage,  had  come  all  the  way  from  town  for  the 
occasion.  She  greeted  him  with  the  utmost  cordiality, 
which  was  warmly  echoed  by  General  Harlington. 
For  was  not  Travis  the  nephew  of  Dr.  Burslem,  the 
great  specialist,  who  had  been  the  family  friend  fof 
more  than  twenty  years,  and  whose  care  and  affection 
for  Dorus  was  unbounded  \ 

Travis  had  long  since  discovered  a  fragrant  corner 
where  the  honeysuckle  clambered  over  the  end  of 
the  porch;  and  had  ensconced  himself  and  his  part- 
ner, a  dainty  creature  in  pink  and  white,  on  the  wil- 
low seat  arranged  there.  Miss  Quimby  tapped  her 
fan  to  the  rhythm  of  the  music.  They  had  talked 
of  the  stars,  and  the  music,  and  the  guests.  Then 
they  heard  some  one  laughing  in  sweet,  unmistaka- 
ble tones. 

"  That  is  Dorus.  She  is  more  beautiful  than 
ever,"  said  the  girl,  indicating  the  direction  whence 
came  the  sounds  of  laughter. 

135 


The  Letter  H 


Travis  saw  for  a  second  a  star-kissed  face  in  the 
darkness — tumbled,  rumpled  hair,  and  the  light  of 
infinite  sweetness  in  the  eyes,  as  he  had  seen  them 
that  last  night  on  the  ocean.  His  memory  conjured 
up,  even  now,  the  sound  of  the  lapping  of  the  waves 
on  the  Altruria's  side. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"  She  used  to  be  an  ugly  little  thing,"  Miss  Quimby 
rattled  on;  "  everything  about  her  was  so  indistinct. 
You  could  never  tell  the  color  of  her  eyes  or  her 
hair.  But  she  really  blossomed  out  wonderfully — 
like  the  ugly  duckling." 

Travis  glanced  at  the  girl  as  she  spoke,  noted  the 
distinctness  of  her  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair;  and 
marvelled  not  that  the  dreamy,  indefinable  mystery 
of  the  other  was  the  more  potent  to  charm. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  absently. 

"  She  used  to  be  queer,  too,  and  they  do  say  that 
she  hasn't  outgrown  that  yet ;"  her  voice  was  low,  al- 
most a  whisper. 

"  How  so  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  in  different  ways,"  she  answered.  "  She 
used  to  be  always  dreaming,  and  seeing  and  hearing 
strange  things  that  none  of  the  rest  of  us  ever  saw 
or  heard." 

136 


The  Dance  at  Harlington  Hall 

"  Really — that  sounds  rather  interesting/'  said 
Travis.    "  She  looks  psychic." 

"  Psychic,"  echoed  his  companion,  "  I  call  her 
downright  queer." 

"  Shall  we  dance  ?"  he  asked  abruptly.  He  dis- 
liked to  hear  Dorus  spoken  of  in  this  light  way. 
Her  frailty  appealed  to  him;  and,  more  than  all  else, 
the  sad,  wistful  light  in  her  deep  eyes.  That  she 
was  queer  he  would  not  admit.  Women  of  the  over- 
sensitive kind  often  were  rather  erratic,  he  reasoned. 
For  them  the  world  was  out  of  focus — the  great 
things  were  of  little  consequence,  the  trifles  were  of 
vast  moment.  They  were  either  on  the  high  peak 
of  happiness  or  down  under  the  waves  of  despair. 
Such  was  Dorus.  She  lived  within  herself,  and 
looked  out  upon  the  world  with  eyes  which  distorted 
all  things  that  came  within  her  vision,  mental  or 
physical.  As  in  a  play,  the  ghastly  green  light  brings 
out  the  horror  of  some  weird  scene;  and  the  red  light 
softens  it  all;  so  the  imagination  of  Dorus  colored 
the  world  with  artificial  tints — now  this,  now  that. 
It  was  the  result  of  over-sensitiveness,  Travis  rea- 
soned ;  and  unsympathetic  outsiders  called  her  queer. 
Interesting,  dreaming  child  that  she  must  have  been 
— and  was  she  not  still  half  a  child  ? 

137 


The  Letter  H 


As  he  started  with  his  fair  companion  toward  the 
door,  they  found  themselves  immediately  behind  two 
late  arrivals — a  man  and  a  woman.  The  woman 
wore  a  gown  of  velvet — black  velvet,  cut  low  at  the 
neck — and  in  her  hair  was  the  sparkle  of  diamonds. 
Her  carriage  was  easy  and  gracious,  and  Travis 
noted  the  faultless  beauty  in  the  lines  of  her  face 
and  form.  There  was  a  smile  in  the  dark  eyes — a 
cold,  forced  smile,  and  in  the  lips  was  a  little  droop, 
half  sad. 

The  man  was  in  conventional  evening  dress,  and 
was  strikingly  handsome.  He  seemed  to  be  uncon- 
scious that  all  eyes  were  turned  for  a  moment  upon 
him  and  his  companion. 

"  Signora  Lucia  Brindelli,"  announced  the  servant, 
"  Signor  Arturo  Brindelli." 

The  red  blood  leaped  to  Dorus's  usually  pale  face, 
and  her  eyes  sparkled  brilliantly  at  the  sound  of  the 
name.  She  had  been  talking  with  old  Dr.  Burslem, 
but  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  to  turn  to  the 
new  guests.  In  her  gown  of  flimsy  white  tulle  she 
looked  like  some  lovely  flower;  and  the  cluster  of 
blood  red  roses  at  her  breast  heightened  her  charm. 

The  cordiality  of  her  greeting  and  the  warmth  of 
her  welcome  were  not  lost  upon  Herman  nor  upon 

113 


The  Dance  at  Harlington  Hall 

Dr.  Burslem.  Both  men,  from  different  points  of 
view,  watched  her  thoughtfully. 

Ernesto  introduced  his  mother,  murmuring  apolo- 
gies for  bringing  her  without  a  special  invitation, 
which  Dorus  quickly  hushed  with  words  of  sincere 
hospitality.  She  gave  her  little  gloved  hand  to  the 
woman,  admiring  her  immensely;  for  the  rather 
careless  beauty  of  Carmelita  as  we  have  seen  her 
before,  had  become,  by  a  more  careful  costuming,  the 
soft,  sensuous  loveliness  of  the  ballroom.  The  Mex- 
ican was  perfectly  at  her  ease,  but  Dorus's  voice 
trembled  a  little  as  she  glanced  from  the  woman  to 
the  broad-shouldered  youth. 

"  I — I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  began.  "  I  was 
so  afraid  that  you  would  not  be  able  to  come." 

Then,  for  a  moment,  her  hand  rested  in  the  big, 
strong  clasp  of  the  musician.  She  wondered,  vaguely 
if  the  people  around  them  could  see  the  tremor  of 
her  arm,  or  hear  the  wild  beating  of  her  heart.  But 
all  they  heard  was  the  conventional  greeting : 

"  I  am  so  happy  to  see  you  here,  Signor  Brindelli." 

"  And  I  to  be  here." 

Dorus  turned  to  her  father.  "  Papa,"  she  said, 
with  seeming  candor,  "  I  want  you  so  much  to  meet 
Signora  Brindelli,  and  the  Signor  also.     You  know 

189 


The  Letter  H 


he  saved  my  life  in  Florence,  and  I've  been  longing 
to  have  him  meet  you  ever  since.  When  I  heard  that 
they  were  travelling  in  this  country,  and  were  in  our 
neighborhood,  I  begged  them  to  join  us  this  even- 
ing." 

General  Harlington  grasped  the  young  man's  hand 
heartily:  "This  is  indeed  an  unexpected  pleasure," 
he  said.  "  Let  me  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  of  the 
opportunity  of  thanking  you." 

Unmerited  gratitude  was  almost  more  than  the 
Mexican  could  bear ;  his  face  flushed  scarlet. 

"  I'm  afraid "  he  began. 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  the  girl,  eagerly.  "  You 
saved  my  life — what  more  can  be  said  ?" 

"Yes,  but " 

"  No  buts,  Signor,"  cried  the  General,  "  'tis  only 
youthful  modesty,  so  we'll  say  no  more  about  it." 

"  It  was  in  Genoa  that  I  last  saw  you,"  said  Doras, 
anxious  to  get  away  from  the  subject,  for  she  feared 
that  Ernesto  intended  to  speak  out  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity.   "  Do  you  think  it  more  alluring  than  Paris  ?" 

"  I  love  it  better,"  he  said,  softly,  "  and  my  mother 
— it  is  like  home  to  her." 

For  a  moment  the  throng  moved  away,  leaving 
the  two  standing  alone. 

140 


The  Dance  at  Harlington  Hall 

"  It  was  cruel  of  you  to  make  me  act  deceitfully," 
he  said,  gently. 

"  Ah,  Ernesto  I"  sadly. 

"  You  did  not  tell  me  I  must  play  so  hard  a  part," 
he  went  on.  "  It  is  a  tangled  web  we  are  weaving, 
and  I  doubt  where  the  end  may  be." 

"  It  will  come  out  all  right,"  she  said,  with  a 
woman's  optimism. 

"  Does  the  right  ever  come  from  wrong-doing  ?  " 

"  So  you  have  become  a  preacher  since  this  after- 
noon ?"  She  looked  up  at  him  playfully. 

"  Yes,  for  you,"  and  his  tone  was  serious. 

Then  the  guests  gathered  about  them  again,  and 
they  all  chatted  gaily  together.  They  talked  of 
Italy,  of  Rome,  and  Florence,  and  Munich.  Dorus 
seemed  to  forget  her  other  guests,  and  was  wholly  un- 
conscious of  Herman,  who  watched  her  like  a  hawk. 

Meantime,  out  in  the  servants'  quarters,  there  was 
some  strange  gossiping.  Most  of  the  guests  having 
arrived,  Luke,  large  with  the  importance  of  discov- 
ery, resigned  his  place  at  the  door  to  Rastus,  and 
hastened  back  to  the  kitchen.  As  he  neared  the 
door,  he  heard  Saida's  voice  calling  him : 

"  Luke !  where  are  you,  Luke  ?  That  man  used  to 
work  fast  and  try  to  talk  fast — but  now  he  talks  slow 

141 


The  Letter  H 


and  works  slower  than  he  talks.  There's  one  conso- 
lation— both  the  children  take  after  me,  all  except 
that  horrid  sta-a-a-m-mer."  Saida  drawled  the  last 
word  just  as  Luke  came  in. 

"  Pr-a-aotisin',  Saida  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  an'  I'd  praotis'  mo'  ef  'twould  only  mak'  yo* 
perfect.    I'se  mighty  glad  ma  tongue  is  all  right." 

"  C-c-a-a-n't  say  as  I'm  as  h-h-appy  as  vo'  ana 
'bout  dat,  but  I'se  got  good  eyes,  I  has." 

Luke  deliberately  tried  to  mystify  Saida,  and  she 
took  the  bait;  and  putting  upon  the  table  the  salad 
bowl  that  she  was  carrying,  came  towards  him 
eagerly :  , 

"  What  yo' done  saw?" 

Deep  silence  was  the  answer,  while  Luke  slowly 
filled  his  pipe. 

"  Tell  yo'  ole  woman,  Luke,"  she  begged.  "  I'se 
yo'  wife,  sho'  'nuff." 

"  A-are  yo'  ?"  asked  Luke,  banteringly.  "  I  a.'mo&' 
done  forgot  dat  a  f-f-a-ct." 

"  Don'  yo'  be  no  fool,  Luke,"  said  the  woman, 
picking  up  her  bowl  again.  "  Wha'  have  yo'  done 
gone  an'  saw  ?  " 

Luke  took  her  by  the  arm  and  pulled  her  under  the 
gas  light,  looking  her  full  in  the  face. 

142 


The  Dance  at  Harlington  Hall 

"  Don'  jo'  tell  ?"  lie  questioned. 

"  No,  no ;  go  on,  yo'  good  fur  nothin'  nigger." 

"  Don'  yo'  hurry  m-m-e  so,"  he  protested. 

"  No,  no,"  the  woman  repeated.     "  Go  on." 

"  We-e-11,  I'se  goin'  on,  ain'  I  %  Do  yo'  th-th-ink, 
fo'  sartin  sho',  dat  you'  'member  dat  M-m-exiean 
woman,  down  in  Louisian,'  when  de  young  m-m-issus 
went  m-m-ad?" 

Saida's  good-natured,  dusky  face  sobered  instantly : 

"  Eeckon  we  uns  won'  neber  ferget  her,  and  pray 
de  good  Lor'  dat  he  neber  forgib  her,"  she  said  sol- 
emnly. 

Luke  put  his  fingers  across  his  lips  and  pointed 
mysteriously  to  the  big  hall  where  the  guests  were 
assembled. 

"  She  in  dar,"  he  whispered. 

Saida  gave  one  frightened  glance  at  the  door 
which  separated  the  kitchen  from  the  hall,  and  back 
again  at  Luke. 

"  Don'  yo'  be  a  fool,"  she  said. 

"  D-d-ats  de  reason  I  knowed  h-h-er,  'cos  I'se  no 
fool." 

Saida  wrung  her  hands  in  dismay.  "  De  Lor'  pro- 
tec'  de  precious  lam',"  she  wailed. 

Long  before  Saida  was  able  to  reach  the  General, 
143 


The  Letter  H 


Dr.  Burslem  thought  he  had  made  the  same  discovery 
that  Luke  was  so  positive  about.  He  found  his  way 
to  his  host,  and  the  two  watched  the  merry  throng 
of  dancers. 

"  Who  are  your  distinguished  looking  guests,  Gen- 
eral ?"  asked  Burslem,  at  length. 

"  A  Signor  Brindelli  and  his  mother — two  Italian 
friends  of  Dorus.  She  says  she  knew  them  in  Flor- 
ence. The  young  man  caught  her  horse  when  it 
had  been  startled  by  a  runaway.  They  are  travelling 
through  the  country,  and  I  think  that  I  ought  to  ask 
them  here  for  a  visit." 

Then  the  General  went  on  in  a  lower  voice  : 

"  There  is  one  question,  Burslem,  that  I  have 
started  to  ask  you  several  times.  Have  you  any  idea 
what  became  of  that  Mexican  girl  and  her  child  ?  I've 
never  heard  a  word  about  them  or  seen  a  trace  since 
that — terrible  day.  To-night  I  cannot  get  them  out 
of  my  thoughts,  though  this  gay  scene  seems  a 
strange  place  to  ask  so  serious  a  question." 

Burslem  started,  and  looked  quickly  from  the 
white-haired  old  soldier  to  the  two  strangers.  His 
suspicions  were  growing  to  a  certainty. 

"  I  think  I  have  met  them — once,"  he  said,  guard- 
edly. 

144 


The  Dance  at  Harlington  Hall 

"  When  ?  where  I"  cried  the  General,  eagerly. 

"  At  a  social  gathering  not  long  ago,"  said  the 
Doctor,  still  guardedly. 

"  A  social  gathering  ?"  asked  the  General,  per- 
plexed.   "  What  name  do  they  go  by  ?" 

Dr.  Burslem  hesitated :  "I  am  afraid  the  name 
will  sound  too  familiar,"  he  said. 

"  Then  she  has  not  forgotten  the  name,"  said  the 
General,  in  some  anxiety,  "  the  fatal  H,  and  still 
calls  herself  Harlington?" 

"  I  can't  say  whether  she  has  forgotten  the  name 
Harlington,  but  she  was  not  known  by  it  when  we 
met." 

"What  then?" 

Burslem  turned  to  the  old  soldier  and  scanned  his 
face  closely. 

"  Harlington,"  he  began,  "  no  man  lives  with 
whose  life  I  have  been  more  intimate  than  yours, 
and  I  know  that  we  are  friends." 

The  physician's  serious  mood  affected  Harlington, 
and  he  paled  slightly.    He  clasped  the  doctor's  hand. 

"  We  are,"  he  said,  "  true  friends.    Speak  out." 

"  You  are  the  last  man  to  whom  I  would  breathe 
my  suspicions  did  not  my  whole  being — all  my  sense, 

sharpened  by  years  of  active  use " 

145 


The  Letter  H 


"Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  the  General,  "  speak  out. 
I  trust  you." 

"  Mr.  Harlington,"  said  Burslem,  impressively,  "  I 
honestly  believe  that  the  Mexican  woman  and  her 
son  are  in  your  house  at  this  very  moment." 

Harlington  went  white  to  the  lips.  His  hand  shook 
as  he  tried  to  steady  himself  by  a  table  that  stood 
near. 

"  Those  Italians !  What  do  they  want — here  ?"  he 
whispered  hoarsely.  "  She  killed  my  wife.  Does  she 
come  to  kill  my  child?  Come,  they  shall  leave  the 
house." 

Harlington  strode  towards  the  ballroom,  followed 
by  Burslem.  When  they  gained  the  entrance,  they 
looked  in  vain  for  the  distinguished  foreigners.  They 
were  not  there. 


148 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   REVENGE   OF   OAEMELITA 

Dorus  led  the  way  from  the  brilliant  ballroom  into 
the  vine-covered  arbor  in  the  garden,  followed  by 
Herman,  who  thought  he  had  never  seen  anyone 
look  more  stately  and  dignified.  The  girl's  face  was 
almost  expressionless,  and  her  whole  manner  was 
one  of  calm  self-possession.  Herman  looked  plead- 
ingly at  her,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  see  him. 

"  Dorus,"  he  began,  "  I  asked  the  favor  of  a  pri- 
vate interview  with  you." 

The  girl  tapped  her  dainty  fan  impatiently. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  we  are  alone,  are  we  not  ?  All 
that  is  necessary  now  to  make  the  private  interview 
is  for  you  to  speak." 

Herman  took  a  quick  step  nearer  to  her,  and  the 
unimpassioned  calm  of  his  face  gave  place  to  another 
expression. 

"  Doras,"  he  cried  bitterly,  "  why  are  you  so  in- 
different to  me  1  I  have  loved  you  so,  all  the  years  I 
have  known  you.  For  me,  there  has  never  been  an- 
other woman." 

147 


The  Letter  H 


He  was  close  to  her  now,  his  lips  almost  touching 
the  fragrant  dust-brown  hair,  misty  in  the  rosy  light 
of  the  lanterns. 

"  Dear,"  he  went  on,  passionately,  "  though  you 
played  with  me,  though  you  laughed  at  me  some- 
times, I  know  that  you,  too,  cared  for  me — until 
you  went  away.  Dorus,  it  would  well-nigh  kill  me 
if  I  should  know  that  one  of  those  foreigners  had 
stepped  into  my  place  in  your  heart.  Tell  me,  why 
are  all  your  pleasant  words  given  to — him  ?  "  Her- 
man motioned  indoors,  whence  came  the  sounds  of 
music. 

Dorus  bit  her  lip :  "  Is  Signor  Brindelli  to  blame 
for  having  been  born  in  Italy  ?  " 

"  He  is  to  blame  for  not  staying  where  he  was 
born,"  was  the  quick  answer. 

Dorus  laughed  contemptuously :  "  A  very  foolish 
speech,  Herman,"  she  said  coldly;  "  the  offspring  of 
envy — a  noble  feeling,  truly." 

"  !No,  Dorus,"  said  Herman ;  "  but  it  sprang  from 
a  noble  feeling." 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"  From  love,  Dorus." 

The  girl  drew  in  her  breath.  She  toyed  with  her 
fan,  and  looking  at  the  man  from  the  corner  of  her 
eye,  said  quietly: 

148 


The  Revenge  qf  Carmelita 


"  Then — ah,  yes — you  are  jealous." 

Herman  drew  himself  up  proudly.  "  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  own  it — to  the  woman  I  love." 

"  When  the  woman  says  she  loves  you,  your  jeal- 
ousy may  be  excusable.  At  present,  it  is  bordering 
on  presumption,"  answered  Dorus.  "  Is  the  private 
interview  at  an  end  ? " 

"  It  is,"  replied  Herman,  with  dignity.  "  Shall 
I  take  you  back  to  the  house  ?  " 

Dorus  sank  upon  the  rustic  seat :  "  I  would  rather 
wait  here — just  a  little." 

Standing  over  her,  he  looked  down  tenderly. 
"  Dorus,"  he  said,  "  some  day  you  will  be  sorry." 

"  When  that  time  comes,  Herman,  I  shall  beg  the 
private  interview." 

As  the  sound  of  the  man's  footsteps  grew  more 
indistinct  as  he  went  back  alone  to  the  ballroom, 
Dorus  pulled  one  of  the  crimson  roses  from  her 
breast,  tearing  leaf  from  leaf. 

"  What  a  mess  I  am  making  of  it  all,"  she  thought. 
"  Scarcely  two  years  ago,  it  was  the  dream  of  my 
life  to  have  Herman  say  such  things  to  me — to  tell 
me  that — he — cared — for — me.  And  now,  it  only 
bores  me.  Heigh  ho !  and  now  I  am  dreaming  the 
most  impossible  of  all  dreams.     A  musician — but 

149 


The  Letter  H 


how  splendid  he  is !  "  Her  breast  heaved  and  her 
eyes  grew  luminous  as  she  thought  of  Ernesto. 

The  sound  of  the  crunching  of  the  gravel  under 
approaching  footsteps  broke  upon  her  reverie,  and 
she  looked  up,  startled,  into  the  great,  dark  eyes  of 
the  Mexican. 

"  Oh,  Ernesto !  "  she  cried  delightedly,  extending 
both  little  hands.     "  How  you  frightened  me !  " 

He  took  them  and  bowed  over  them,  the  laughter 
of  youth  in  his  eyes.  They  laughed  together,  joy- 
ously. 

"  I  trust,"  he  said,  "  that  you  do  not  regret  the 
hospitality  you  have  shown  to  your  two  Italian 
guests.  You  were  so  cordial  to  my  mother.  I  thank 
you  sincerely. 

Dorus  looked  at  him  intently — noting  his  stalwart 
build,  his  frank,  dark  face,  his  ease  of  bearing. 

"  You  both  have  added  so  much  to  the  evening," 
she  cried.  "  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  yourself — if 
you  have,  I  am  fully  repaid  for  my — "  She  stopped, 
embarrassed. 

"  Your — what  did  you  say  ?  "  the  Mexican  queried. 

"  My — I  can't  explain  myself  here,"  she  said. 
"  Give  me  your  arm  and  we  will  walk  in  the  garden." 

"  Shall — shall  I  not  deprive  other  friends  of  your 
150 


The  Revenge  of  Carmelita 


company — older  acquaintances  who  have  claims 
upon  you,  while  I  have  none  ?  " 

"  As  my  guest,"  the  girl  spoke  with  dignity,  "  you 
have  a  strong  claim  upon  my  hospitality.  And,  be- 
sides, an  explanation  is  due  you  for  my  con- 
duct  " 

But  Ernesto  interrupted  her.  "  How  I  wish  you 
could  explain,  or  indeed  that  I  could  explain,"  he 
said;  "  but  I  feel  utterly  bewildered,  and  I  think  you 
feel  the  same.  What  impelled  me  to  come  here  this 
afternoon  I  do  not  know.  I  suddenly  felt  drawn 
towards  the  window  where  you  were  standing;  I 
fought  against  it,  but  in  vain;  my  footsteps  lagged, 
yet  I  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  until  I  actually  en- 
tered your  library  and  saw  the  magnet  that  had 
drawn  me  thither — your  eyes." 

The  girl  answered  him  with  a  look  of  understand- 
ing and  admiration.  She  would  have  spoken,  but 
he  went  on.  "  The  only  thing  I  cannot  bear,"  he 
said,  "  is  to  be  here  under  false  pretences — to  bear 
an  assumed  name.     I  want  to  throw  off  this  mask." 

As  he  spoke  they  started  out  of  the  arbor,  when 
Herman  Higby  confronted  them.  His  face  was 
flushed,  blue  fire  flashed  from  his  eyes  and  his  lips 
were  set  hard  together.     This  was  a  new  Herman. 

151 


The  Letter  H 


He  had  not  seemed  tall  before,  but  now  he  quite  filled 
up  the  doorway  of  the  summer-house. 

"  I  overheard  your  words,  sir,"  he  said,  ignoring 
Dorus.  "  I  do  not  make  an  apology  for  that.  Now 
is  the  time  to  throw  off  your  mask  and  tell  who  and 
what  you  are,  and  why  you  are  here." 

There  was  no  sign  of  either  confusion  or  embar- 
rassment on  Ernesto's  face.  "  Certainly — "  he  be- 
gan. 

But  Dorus,  a  curious,  hard  look  in  her  eyes,  thrust 
herself  before  Ernesto  and  faced  Herman. 

"  Stop,"  she  cried  angrily?  "  He  is  my  guest,  here 
at  my  invitation.    Have  you  any  right  to  interfere  ?  " 

"  I  have,  after  what  I  have  heard,"  the  young 
fellow  answered.  "  As  a  friend  of  your  father's, 
as  your  suitor,  I  have  a  right  to  ask  who  this  man  is 
— for  he  confesses  he  bears  a  false  name." 

While  Herman  was  speaking,  his  father,  attracted 
by  the  sound  of  the  loud  voices,  approached  the 
arbor,  and  on  the  step  ran  against  Harlington  and 
Burslem  searching  for  the  Mexican.  Colonel  Higby 
was  frightened,  and  he  stepped  forward  hurriedly. 
"  What  is  the  trouble  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Herman, 
what  has  happened  ?  " 

Young  Higby's  face  was  flushed.  He  stood  alone, 
152    ' 


The  Revenge  of  Carmelita 


while  at  the  farther  side  of  the  arbor  stood  Dorus 
and  Ernesto — the  former,  queenly  in  her  fresh 
young  beauty  and  womanly  dignity;  the  latter  calm 
and  resolute.  Dorus  inclined  her  head  gracefully 
towards  Herman,  and  with  a  suggestion  of  sarcasm 
in  her  voice,  said: 

"  By  all  means,  let  Mr.  Herman  Higby  explain." 

The  young  fellow  turned  eagerly  to  the  recent 
arrivals  upon  the  scene.  "  From  my  own  suspicions, 
and  from  words  which  I  heard  this  man  utter,"  he 
said,  "  I  am  convinced  that  he  is  not  what  he  claims 
to  be — an  Italian  gentleman  named  Brindelli." 

The  General  turned  to  his  daughter :  "  That  point 
can  be  easily  settled.    Dorus,  who  are  your  guests  ?  " 

Ernesto  looked  at  the  girl,  and  without  even  en- 
deavoring to  lower  his  voice,  said : 

"  I  will  tell  them." 

But  Dorus  motioned  to  him  to  be  silent. 

"  Mr.  Higby's  ears  deceived  him,  father,"  she 
said.  "  He  is  jealous,  so  he  has  brought  about  this 
scene.  My  guests  are  Signor  Arturo  Brindelli  and 
his  mother." 

But  Lenore  had  softly  entered  the  arbor  with  an 
open  letter  in  her  hand.  At  Dorus's  words,  she 
cried: 

168 


The  Letter  H 


"  Oh,  Doras,  how  can  you  ?  " 

"  Lenore,"  questioned  the  General,  "  what  do  you 
mean? " 

"  Horace,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  speak.  Bead  that 
letter."  She  handed  him  the  open  letter,  with  an 
appealing  glance  at  Doras. 

The  General  grasped  it  **  Florence — My  dear 
Auntie,"  he  read,  then  exclaimed :  "  Why,  this  is 
Dome's  writing ! " 

The  girl's  gray  eyes  were  blazing.  "  Yes,  father, 
my  private  correspondence,  to  he  read  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  our  guests." 

"  ~No,  Doras,  I  will  not  read  it,"  he  cried. 

"  Then  I  will,"  interposed  Colonel  Higby,  taking 
the  letter  from  the  General's  hand,  "  with  Miss  Clif- 
ton's permission,  whose  rightful  property  it  is."  He 
looked  to  Lenore  for  her  consent,  and  she  nodded 
her  head. 

But  Harlington  interrupted.  "Not  one  word  of 
it  shall  be  read  without  my  daughter's  full  and  free 
consent,"  he  said,  watching  Doras. 

The  girl  looked  puzzled.  "  I  am  at  a  loss  to  un- 
derstand what  connection  this  letter  can  have  with 
Signor  Brindelli,"  she  said,  "  for  Aunt  Lenore  never 
met  him.     I  am  as  curious  as  you  can  be,  Colonel 

154 


The  Revenge  of  Carmelita 


Higby,  and  you  have  my  full  and  free  consent  to 
read  it." 

Colonel  Higby  read  aloud :  "  I  am  staying  here 
with  Mrs.  Harlow,  and  we  are  having  a  delightful 
time  visiting  the  galleries.  Mrs.  Harlow  introduced 
me  to  a  young  artist,  Signor  Arturo  Brindelli,  and 
yesterday  we  called  on  his  father,  who  is  a  wid- 
ower  " 

There  was  a  dull  silence,  broken  at  last  by  Her- 
man's exclamation :  "  Then  the  mother  is  dead." 

Dorus  grew  as  white  as  the  snowy  gown  she  wore, 
but  her  eyes  were  dark  with  anger. 

"  When  they  were  announced  this  evening,"  she 
heard  Lenore  say,  "  I  remembered  this  letter,  and 
went  and  found  it.    Dorus,  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  " 

Without  waiting  for  Dorus's  answer,  Herman 
broke  in,  addressing  Ernesto: 

"  Sir,  if  you  are  not  Signor  Brindelli,  then  who 
are  you  1  " 

"  This  card  may  explain,"  said  Ernesto,  passing  a 
slip  of  pasteboard  to  Herman.  It  was  the  card 
young  Higby  had  given  him  in  the  afternoon,  in 
the  woods  where  the  horse  had  fallen.  Herman 
started  when  he  saw  it : 

"  My  card !     How  came  you  by  this  ?  " 
165 


The  Letter  H 


"  You  gave  it  to  me  this  afternoon,  when  we  met 
in  the  forest.     You  remember  ?  " 

Herman  turned  to  his  father.  "  This  is  the  young 
man  I  told  you  of,  who  pulled  me  out  from  under  my 
horse.  But  why  this  mystery?  If  he  is  a  friend 
of  Dorus,  why  come  this  evening  pretending  to  be 
another  gentleman,  who  has  claims  on  General  Har- 
lington's  gratitude  for  having  saved  Dorus's  life? 
What  does  this  mean?  What  does  this  mean? 
Dorus,  speak  out." 

But  the  girl  seemed  deaf  to  his  entreaties.  Her 
attention  was  distracted,  and  indeed  all  his  hearers 
had  grown  suddenly  inattentive.  All  eyes  were 
turned  upon  the  Mexican  woman,  who  had  noise- 
lessly joined  them.  She  stood,  a  magnificent  figure 
in  the  doorway,  proudly  erect,  anger  in  her  eyes. 
Ernesto  glanced  at  Dorus,  then,  taking  his  mother's 
hands  in  his,  whispered  gently: 

"  We  will  go  now,  mother." 

"  Not  yet,  Ernesto,"  she  said  firmly. 

"No,  not  yet,"  echoed  Colonel  Higby.  "Not 
until  this  affair  is  explained.  As  a  guest  of  my  old 
friend,  General  Harlington,"  he  went  on  impor- 
tantly, "  and  a  life-long  friend  of  the  family,  I  have 
a  right  to  denounce  this  man  as  an  impostor.     If  he, 

156 


The  Revenge  of  Carmelita 


and  the  woman  whom  he  calls  his  mother,  will  not 
tell  who  they  are  and  why  they  are  here,  they  shall 
be  arrested,  and  Henry  Higby  will  make  them  face 
the  law." 

During  Higby's  speech  Carmelita  had  turned  tow- 
ards him.  Her  face  was  white  with  passion,  and 
her  dark  eyes  sparkled  angrily.  She  was  like  a 
lioness,  ready  to  spring  upon  her  prey  and  tear  him 
limb  from  limb.  Dr.  Burslem,  tugging  at  his  white 
whiskers,  whispered,  "  It  is  the  Mexican."  Ernesto 
saw  the  gathering  storm  and  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
mother's  arm.  But  it  was  too  late.  Her  voice  was 
low  and  deep,  but  wonderfully  clear. 

"  So,"  she  said,  "  so  Colonel  Higby  will  make  this 
poor  boy  and  his  mother  face  the  law?  But,  mind 
you,  Carmelita  will  make  you  face  your  own  con- 
science. Look  upon  the  woman  you  deceived — 
upon  your  son — Ernesto,  look  at  him — after  long 
years,  there  he  is — Ernesto,  Colonel  Higby,  Colonel 
Henry  Higby,  is  your  father!  " 


157 


CHAPTER   XIV 


MORS   DISCLOSURES 


At  the  words  of  the  Mexican  woman  an  ominous 
(silence  fell  upon  the  little  group  gathered  in  the 
summer-house.  Afar  off,  the  music  sounded  soft 
and  rhythmic;  the  confused  murmur  of  voices  min- 
gled with  it.  The  lights  within  the  house  were  bril- 
liant; without,  the  rows  of  colored  lanterns  threw  a 
mellow  glow.  Only  in  the  little  rustic  arbor  the 
silence  hung  heavy,  intense. 

Dorus,  her  eyes  wide  with  horror,  stared  as  though 
fascinated  at  Colonel  Higby.  Herman,  fearfully 
shocked,  kept  his  gaze  on  the  Mexican  woman.  Har- 
lington's  deep  breathing,  and  the  low  "  My  God !  " 
that  escaped  his  lips,  showed  his  feelings.  Higby 
alone  was  utterly  unmoved. 

What  passed  within  his  mind  was  given  to  none 
to  understand,  but  at  the  corners  of  his  hard,  cold 
mouth  there  was  a  cynical  droop  that  boded  ill  for 
those  who  counted  on  either  his  honest  purposes  or 
his  charitableness. 

158 


More  Disclosures 


Ernesto,  his  shoulders  squared  as  if  to  meet  a  blow, 
his  lips  pressed  firmly  together,  his  usually  gay  face 
pale  and  drawn,  looked  straight  into  Higby's  eyes. 
Carmelita  herself,  now  that  her  life  purpose  had 
been  accomplished — the  man  she  had  loved  and 
honored  in  the  old  days  brought  face  to  face  with 
his  son — seemed  infinitely  wan  and  tired. 

The  silence  grew  more  and  more  oppressive. 
Higby's  icy  laugh  was  the  first  sound  to  break  the 
stillness. 

"  Melodramatic — and  stupid,"  he  said  gruffly. 
"  They  are  mad,  poor  things,  but  quite  harmless. 
Harlington,"  he  continued,  turning  -to  his  host,  "  had 
you  not  better  have  them  removed  ?  " 

The  brutality  of  the  speech  struck  all  his  hearers. 
Ernesto  strode  forward.  In  his  face  and  bearing 
was  the  strength  of  right  and  justice. 

"  If  we  are  mad,  Colonel  Higby — Colonel  Henry 
Higby,"  he  said,  repeating  the  name  as  his  mother 
had  done,  "  it  is  to  your  door  we  may  lay  it.  Carme- 
lita del  Tonjours  knows  the  truth  and  speaks  it,  but 
your  friends  do  not  believe  her.  You,  too,  know 
the  truth,  but  you  are  a  coward  and  dare  not  speak 
it.  And  God  in  Heaven,  who  sends  His  showers 
upon  the  just  and  the  unjust  alike,  He,  too,  knows 

159 


The  Letter  H 


the  truth,  and  in  His  own  good  time  will  judge  be- 
tween us."  He  turned  towards  Dorus.  "  Good- 
by,"  he  continued,  bending  gravely  over  her  hand. 
"  Some  day,  perhaps,  we  shall  meet  again  under 
kinder  circumstances  for  us  both;  until  then,  think 
charitably  of  me  and  of  my  mother,  Signora  del  Ton- 
jours,  whose  name  I  bear.  In  the  world  of  art  and 
of  music  the  name  of  Ernesto  de  Tonjours  may  yet 
be  known." 

With  a  courtly  gesture,  he  gave  his  arm  to  Carme- 
lita,  and  together  they  passed  out. 

As  they  withdrew,  Dr.  Burslem  smothered  an 
ejaculation,  and  tried  in  vain  to  master  the  anger 
that  possessed  him.  He  was  anxious  to  get  away 
from  the  temptation  of  meddling  with  affairs  which 
he  saw  were  essentially  private,  so  he  left  the  arbor 
quickly  and  ran  at  once  into  Travis,  who  had  come 
there  in  the  hope  of  finding  Dorus.  Travis  had 
heard  enough  to  give  him  the  clue  of  the  whole  mat- 
ter, and  he  stood  amazed  and  appalled.  If  anyone's 
opinion  on  these  remarkable  events  would  be  of 
value,  he  knew  it  would  be  his  uncle's.  The  two 
men  were  always  in  perfect  sympathy.  Now  they 
fell  into  step  without  any  comment  and  walked  si- 
lently towards  the  river  side. 

160 


More  Disclosures 


The  white-haired  physician  looked  steadfastly  into 
the  young  man's  face. 

"  Your  father  stood  beside  me,  Richie,"  he  said, 
"  when  Harlington's  girl-wife  breathed  her  last,  in 
the  sanitarium  in  New  Orleans.  We  both  said  that 
in  the  eyes  of  God,  Henry  Higby  was  her  murderer. 
After  to-night,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  That  he  will  finish  his  work  by  murdering  the 
Mexican  woman — his  wife,  if  you  will,  though  he 
seems  not  to  like  the  name — unless  he  is  prevented 
in  some  way." 

"  Right,  my  boy,"  cried  the  Doctor  warmly. 
"  Harlington,  poor  man,  believes  in  his  friend  im- 
plicitly, though  Dorus  distrusts  him.  I  can  see  that. 
The  young  Mexican  lad — how  did  he  impress  you  ?  " 

"  Too  good  for  the  father,"  said  Travis  tersely. 

"  Right  again,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  What  a  fine, 
strong  face  he  has !  What  I  cannot  understand  is 
Dorus's  apparent  infatuation.  You  know,  Richie, 
it  was  that  woman  and  her  child,  and  the  lies  that 
Higby  told  of  them,  that  drove  the  poor  lady  insane. 
The  mother,  in  her  insanity,  hated  the  Mexican  boy 
— he  seems  to  arouse  the  opposite  emotion  in  the 
daughter.     Curious,  is  it  not  ?  " 

They  had  reached  the  last  terrace  as  it  sloped 
161 


The  Letter  H 


steeply  down,  gray-green  in  the  pale  light  of  the 
moon.  They  seated  themselves  on  a  rustic  bench; 
the  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  far-away  sounds 
of  gaiety. 

Eichie,"  asked  the  older  man,  after  they  had 
smoked  quietly  for  a  while,  "  did  you  ever  hear  the 
whole  story  \ " 

"  No,"  said  Travis.  "  All  I  know  is  what  I  have 
seen  and  heard  to-night.  I  met  Dorus — Miss  Har- 
lington  on  the  steamer  coming  back  from  Europe, 
but  she  doesn't  know  the  story  herself." 

"  No,  and  may  the  Lord  keep  her  from  ever  hear- 
ing it,"  said  the  Doctor  devoutly. 

"  In  the  old  war  days,  Richie,  I  was  only  a  young 
surgeon  in  the  18th  New  York,  and  Harlington  was 
the  general  in  command  of  the  brigade  stationed  at 
Thibodeauxville.  By  a  mere  chance,  I  was  thrown 
most  intimately  into  association  with  him  at  what 
proved  to  be  the  crisis  of  his  life.  The  matter  has 
always  been  more  or  less  of  a  mystery  to  me. 

"  While  we  were  at  Thibodeauxville,  just  before 
our  capture  by  the  Confederates,  this  Mexican 
woman  with  her  son,  then  a  toddling  baby,  appealed 
to  the  commanding  officer  for  help  in  an  effort  to  find 
her  husband.     She  declared  that  he  was  one,  Horace 

162 


More  Disclosures 


Harlington,  who  had  deserted  her  some  years  before, 
in  Guadalaxara.  She  had  evidently  no  idea  that 
this  was  actually  the  name  of  the  officer  to  whom 
she  was  speaking,  and  Harlington,  who  had  never 
seen  the  woman  before,  was  at  his  wits'  end.  He 
had  never  been  to  Mexico,  and  never  knew  that  he 
had  a  double.  Higby  turned  up  soon  after  the 
General  had  rid  himself  temporarily  of  his  embar- 
rassing guests,  and,  after  hearing  the  General's  story, 
told  a  yarn  about  a  very  dear  friend  of  his — who 
had  since  died — who  had  had  some  sort  of  an  esca- 
pade with  a  woman  in  Mexico.  This  friend  had 
further  complicated  matters  by  masquerading  under 
the  name  of  Horace  Harlington;  using  it,  probably, 
because  Higby  had  mentioned  it  so  often.  A  man 
in  such  a  case  frequently  takes  the  first  name  that 
comes  into  his  mind. 

"  When  the  Mexican  woman  found  out  the  name 
of  the  General,  she  thought  he  was  her  recreant  hus- 
band, changed  beyond  recognition  by  time  and  cir- 
cumstances. She  entreated  him  pitifully  to  take 
care  of  her  and  the  boy.  The  General's  wife,  by 
some  chance,  overheard  the  woman's  pleading,  and 
the  shock — for  she  was  devoted  to  the  husband — 
drove  her  completely  insane.     Her  one  idea  was  to 

163 


The  Letter  H 


kill  the  boy — once,  during  a  paroxysm,  she  plunged 
a  dagger  into  a  pillow  on  a  divan,  under  the  impres- 
sion that  it  was  the  child. 

"  Higby  took  the  best  of  care  not  to  be  seen  by 
the  Mexican  claimant,  saying  that  he  could  not  en- 
dure to  look  upon  the  girl  whom  his  friend  had 
wronged.  But  in  spite  of  his  precautions,  she  finally 
got  a  glimpse  of  him,  and  declared  that  he  was  the 
Horace  Harlington  who  was  her  husband.  He 
wormed  himself  out  of  it  in  some  way,  but  his  ex- 
planations always  sounded  very  lame  to  me,  though 
the  General  believed  in  him  implicitly.  I  had  al- 
ways been  interested  in  the  study  of  insanity,  and 
was  making  it  my  specialty  when  the  war  broke  out, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  turn  from  it  to  the  care  of  the 
wounded.  The  case  of  poor  Mrs.  Harlington  was 
pitiful  indeed,  and  I  had  every  hope  that  with  her 
youth  and  strength  she  might  recover.  But  she  died 
in  giving  birth  to  her  daughter.  Thus  poor  Doras 
came  into  the  world  under  very  sad  circumstances, 
and  it  is  impossible  to  say  just  what  influence  her 
mother's  condition  may  have  had  upon  her,  or  how 
this  may  develop.  It  may  have  had  no  influence 
at  all — beyond  making  her  dreamy  and  somewhat 
visionary.     I  have  always  watched  her  with  great 

164 


More  Disclosures 


care,  and  I  hope  the  curse  may  never  descend  upon 
her." 

Travis's  brows  had  contracted  sternly  at  the  Doc- 
tor's story.  In  his  excitement,  he  had  risen  from 
his  place  on  the  bench,  and  strode  restlessly  up  and 
down.     Now  he  paused  before  the  physician: 

"  You  think  that  Dorus  may  have  inherited  some 
sort  of  a  mania  from  her  mother  %  " 

"  Lenore  calls  it  a  curse,"  was  the  Doctor's  simple 
statement. 

"  And  what  is  your  idea  of  its  possible  manifes- 
tation ?  "  Travis  had  always  been  more  than  half 
detective. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Dr.  Burslem.  "  I  can  only 
repeat  what  I  have  said  before,  that  it  may  never 
go  beyond  the  moody  spells  that  Lenore  says  the  girl 
has,  and — the  musician  episode  to-night,  does  it  not 
explain  that  in  a  measure  ? " 

"  The  mother  tried  to  kill  him — the  daughter  has 
been  strangely  attracted  to  him — it  is  curious,"  said 
Travis,  thoughtfully. 

"  It  is  very  strange,  and  all  this  matter  about 
Higby  is  very  strange,  too,"  said  the  wise  old  doctor. 
"  And  I  predict  that  the  little  scene  up  there  is  only 
the  beginning  of  the  disclosures  that  will  come.     It 

165 


The  Letter  H 


is  a  matter  that  lies  very  close  to  my  heart.  Dorus 
has  a  sweet,  lovely  character,  but  such  an  inheritance 
sometimes  plays  strange  freaks  when  least  expected. 
All  the  science  of  the  century  may  be  baffled  by 
some  influence  that  is  beyond  the  knowledge  of  the 
wisest.  Some  influence  that  seems  a  message  from 
the  '  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourn  no 
traveller  returns.' "  So  saying,  Dr.  Burselm  de- 
parted in  the  direction  of  the  house,  and  Travis 
paced  up  and  down  the  narrow  path,  his  thoughts 
with  the  winsome  girL  He  saw  her  pictured  as  he 
remembered  her  that  last  night  on  the  AUruria — 
her  star-kissed  face,  with  the  glory  of  the  limitless 
immensity  upon  it.  Then,  again,  he  saw  her  as  she 
looked  on  the  morning  of  their  arrival;  saw  again 
the  admiration  in  her  eyes  as  the  sky-line  of  New 
*York  grew  more  distinct;  heard  again  her  voice, 
singing, 

"  Land  where  my  fathers  died, 
Land  of  the  pilgrim's  pride." 

He  remembered  the  joyousness  of  her  welcome, 
early  that  evening;  her  merriment  and  apparent 
happiness.  Then,  clear  and  vivid,  without  bidding, 
came  the  picture  of  her  face  in  the  little  arbor — the 

166 


More  Disclosures 


exaltation  and — yes,  the  love  in  her  eyes  as  she 
looked  upon  Ernesto. 

But  the  more  he  thought  the  less  he  could  come 
to  any  solution,  until,  throwing  away  his  cigar,  he 
sought  relief  from  his  reflections  in  the  society  of 
others,  and  made  his  way  towards  the  house. 

As  he  was  re-entering  the  ballroom,  he  met  Mias 
Quimby. 

"  Runaway ! "  said  the  girl  in  a  laughing  voice, 
with  just  a  suggestion  of  reproach  in  it. 

"  Did  you  miss  me  ? "  he  questioned,  with  a  long 
glance  at  her  face. 

"  Naturally." 

"  But  you  had  so  many  partners — how  could  you 
find  time  even  to  think  of  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  such  absurd  questions,  and  then  per- 
haps I  can  answer  them,"  she  said,  with  a  shake  of 
her  head. 

"  Did  I  stop  you  ?  Were  you  going  outdoors  ?  " 
he  asked,  for  he  had  come  face  to  face  with  her  on 
the  threshold  of  the  hall. 

"  I  was  just  about  to  start  in  search  of  the  run- 
aways," she  replied  saucily.  "  I  half  expected  to 
find  you  and  Dorus  together." 

"  You  did  ?  "  he  queried,  with  as  little  interest  as 
167 


The  Letter  H 


possible.  "  What  could  give  you  the  idea  that  we 
should  be  anywhere  near  each  other  ?  n 

"  Oh — because,"  she  said,  at  a  loss. 

"  But  that's  a  woman's  reason." 

There  was  a  great  fear  in  Travis's  heart.  If 
something  had  happened  after  the  scene!  Where 
could  Doras  be?  He  felt  that  somehow  he  must 
keep  the  guests  from  finding  her — she  should  have 
time  to  recover  herself. 

"  But  I'm  a  woman,  and  so  I  have  the  privilege 
of  giving  such  a  reason." 

"  It  isn't  a  reason  at  all.  Come,  tell  me,  what 
made  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  Doras  is  so  pretty."  The  answer  was  low,  and 
the  girl's  head  drooped  so  that  he  could  not  see  her 
face. 

"  Pretty  ?  Prettiness  is  not  enough  in  itself  to 
attract  a  man.  That  is,  not  when  the  man  is  as  old 
as  I  am." 

"  Don't  you  care  for  pretty  girls  ? "  She  looked 
up  with  wonder  in  her  eyes. 

"  Not  unless  they  have  other  attractive  qualities," 
he  said.  "  Yet  I  must  confess  that  most  of  the  at- 
tractive girls  I  know  are — pretty." 

They  had  wandered  out  to  the  big  fireplace  in  the 
168 


More  Disclosures 


hall,  which  Dorus  had  piled  with  blood-red  roses  and 
trailing  vines. 

Above  the  mantel  were  masses  of  roses,  and  Miss 
Quimby  stood  with  her  fresh  young  face  outlined 
against  the  flowery  background.  Travis,  his  hands 
behind  him,  watched  her  intently. 

"  It  was  worth  coming  all  the  way  up  from  New 
York  for,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  The  dance  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"  The  dancer,"  he  corrected. 

She  blushed  brightly. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  forget  me  when  T  go  back," 
the  man  went  on. 

"  I  never  forget  my  friends,"  softly. 

"  Then,"  he  questioned,  "  I  am  one  ?  " 

It  was  a  quiet  little  game  that  Travis  was  playing. 
His  thoughts  were  with  the  other  girl — the  gray- 
eyed  girl,  with  the  mystery  upon  her.  He  was  won- 
dering how  she  had  stood  the  exciting  scene  in  the 
arbor.  He  felt  instinctively  that  if  the  story  got 
around,  if  it  reached  the  ears  of  such  little  gossips 
as  the  bewitching  girl  whose  mind  he  was  doing  his 
best  to  occupy  for  the  time  being,  there  would  be 
serious  complications  for  Dorus.  He  thought  that 
the  prospect  of  a  flirtation  might  serve  to  keep  Miss 

169 


The  Letter  H 


Quimby  sufficiently  engaged  to  take  her  mind  ef- 
fectually from  Dorus. 

"  Then  you  will  count  me  as  one  of  your  friends  ?  " 
lie  repeated,  taking  her  fan  from  her  and  toying 
with  it 

"  I  should  be  glad  to,"  was  the  low  answer. 

"  I  should  like — "  he  began,  then  stopped  for  an 
instant. 

There  was  a  vision  of  shimmering  white  upon  the 
Btairway,  and  a  breath  of  fragrant  roses,  and  Dorus, 
her  eyes  shining  unnaturally,  but  otherwise  quite 
calm,  went  past  them  into  the  ballroom.  Travis 
drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

" — I  should  like  the  pleasure  of  this  waltz,"  he 
finished. 


170 


CHAPTEK   XV 


WHAT  CAME   AFTERWARD 


Under  cover  of  the  darkness,  mother  and  son  made 
their  way  back  to  the  little  inn  at  which  they  had 
put  np  over  night.  Carmelita,  her  high-strung,  ner- 
vous body  quivering,  her  head  held  high,  and  her 
breath  coming  in  little  gasps,  walked  swiftly.  Er- 
nesto, whose  overmastering  emotion  was  anger, 
walked  silently  beside  her. 

Out  from  the  shadow  of  the  little  arbor,  while  the 
silence  remained  unbroken;  out  from  the  glare  of 
the  red  Japanese  lights,  past  the  twin  cedars,  rising 
tall  and  protecting  into  the  starry  sky;  on  into  the 
outer  darkness  they  went;  as  of  old,  Hagar  and 
Ishmael  passed  out  from  the  shelter  of  Abraham's 
tent.  The  soft  caress  of  the  summer  air,  the  steady 
gleam  of  lights  from  across  the  river,  the  rustle  of 
the  leaves  in  the  silence,  made  no  impression  upon 
them. 

About  all  was  peaceful,  all  calm,  all  content;  but 
th«  pease  oi  the  night  did  not  enter  the  thoughts  of 

171 


The  Letter  H 


Carmelita,  Dominant  over  all  else  was  her  fury 
against  Higby.  Her  very  impotency  filled  her  with 
an  absorbing  anger.  Through  the  years  of  her 
young  womanhood  she  had  nursed  the  hope  that  the 
man  still  loved  her;  or,  failing  that,  she  had  prayed 
that  he  had  died.  But  he  had  not  died,  and  the 
chill  of  his  denial  had  struck  ice  into  her  heart  She 
shuddered,  and  something  like  a  sob  passed  her  lips. 

They  came  to  a  place  on  the  road  where  tall  rocks 
rose  out  of  the  darkness,  cutting  off  the  view  of  the 
house.  Carmelita  paused,  and  turned  to  look  at  the 
great  mansion.  How  vast  it  seemed,  with  the  dark- 
ness hanging  over  it,  and  the  bright  lights  twinkling 
from  all  the  windows.  Gray,  massive,  stately,  the 
house  was  transformed — for  the  time  at  least — into 
a  centre  of  gaiety.  The  lights  blazed  and  twinkled 
all  over  the  grounds,  the  sound  of  laughter  and 
merrymaking,  softened  by  distance,  floated  out  to 
Carmelita's  ears.  She  lifted  her  hands  towards  it 
as  though  she  would  wrap  it  in  her  arms,  and  on  her 
impassioned  face  was  written  the  story  of  love  denied. 

"  Oh,  God !  "  she  cried,  in  her  soft  Mexican  voice, 
"  oh,  God,  it  was  love,  wild,  sweet  love  I  would  have 
given  him,  but  he  would  have  none  of  it,  and  now 
I  hate  him — I  hate  him!     Why  did  he  make  me 

172 


What  Came  Afterward 


love  him?  Why  did  he  call  himself  Harlington 
when  his  name  is  Higby?  Why  did  God  give  me 
a  heart  to  love,  and  then  forbid  me  to  love  ? " 

Ernesto  bent  low.  "  We  will  leave  him,  mother, 
forever.  We  two  can  be  happy,  and  my  violin  will 
buy  us  a  little  chateau  where  we  can  grow  old  to- 
gether. There  will  be  no  other,  Carina  Mia,  just 
you  and  I." 

Carmelita  looked  from  the  house  to  the  boyish, 
eager  face.  "  Thank  God,"  she  said,  "  I  have  a  son 
like  you." 

The  next  day  the  Mexican  woman  and  her  hand- 
some son  took  passage  on  one  of  the  Hudson  River 
steamboats  for  a  point  higher  up  the  State,  whence 
they  could  strike  into  the  mountains. 

The  going  of  the  pair  had  made  comment,  as  their 
coming  had  done  the  day  before.  In  a  small  coun- 
try village  like  Newford,  every  act  on  the  part  of 
strangers  and  country  folk  alike,  makes  food  for 
gossip.  Old  Si  Cranford  was  the  keeper  of  the  hos- 
telry at  which  the  musicians  had  stayed,  it  being,  in 
fact,  the  only  one  in  town.  He  and  his  cronies  were 
wont  to  sit  sociably  about  on  the  end  of  the  veranda, 
just  outside  of  what  was  the  equivalent  of  a  bar- 
room.    Very  little  liquor  was  sold,   however,   and 

173 


The  Letter  H 


u  bar-room "  was  hardly  the  name  for  the  cheery 
little  place  where  sarsaparilla,  ginger  ale  and  tobacco 
could  be  purchased.  It  was  the  countryman's  club; 
and  thither  the  farmers  from  all  parts  of  the  sur- 
rounding country  would  gather  for  a  word  of  good 
cheer,  a  bit  of  gossip  and  a  comfortable  pipe.  Si 
was  always  the  centre  of  attraction.  He  was  one  of 
those  big,  bluff,  hearty  farmers  found  all  up  through 
the  Hudson  Kiver  districts.  He  had  grown  up  in 
the  country,  and  he  expected  to  die  there. 

On  this  fair  June  morning,  the  farmers,  awaiting 
the  arrival  of  the  boat,  took  their  places  in  the  com- 
fortable seats  provided  on  the  veranda  of  the  hos- 
telry and  proceeded  to  smoke  and  gossip.  The  ball 
of  the  night  before,  at  "  The  Hall,"  as  the  country 
people  called  the  Harlington  residence,  furnished 
food  for  conversation. 

"  'Twas  a  great  time  they  had  up  at  the  Hall  last 
night,"  said  Sands  reflectively,  by  way  of  introduc- 
tion. 

Deacon  Constable,  whose  place  adjoined  the  Hall, 
and  who  had  been  among  the  guests,  was  the  next 
speaker. 

"  I  calculate  it's  been  the  biggest  thing  around 
these  parts  for  these  many  years." 

174 


WTiat  Came  Afterward 


"  Aye,"  said  Sands,  "  there's  them  that  says  it  was 
finer  than  the  old  Assembly  in  the  city.  My  darter 
Louise  was  up  to  help  Nanny  with  the  ladies'  things, 
and  she  says  the  way  the  laces,  and  the  silks,  and 
the  velvets  was  thrown  'round  was  a  caution." 

"  And  the  heiress  herself  was  handsomer  than  all 
of  her  rich  guests,"  said  one  of  the  younger  men. 

"  Indeed,  then,"  said  Si  cautiously,  "  I'm  not  so 
sure  they  was  all  rich.  Two  of  my  guests,  that  was 
livin'  in  my  cheapest  rooms,  did  themselves  up  fine 
in  broadcloth  and  velvets,  and  it  was  up  to  the  "Hall" 
they  went,  all  dressed  up.  They  wa'n't  there  over 
long,  and  after  they  came  back  I  heard  them  talking 
way  into  the  morning.  And  to-day  they  give  me 
word  that  they're  going  on  the  up  boat.  They're 
down  at  the  landing  now,  waiting  for  it.  It  may 
be  all  right,  but  it  beats  me." 

Sands  looked  startled.  "  Ye  don't  say,"  he  ejacu- 
lated. My  darter  Louise  says  they  took  Miss  Doras 
up  to  her  room  last  night  after  the  dance  was  over, 
and  that  they  worked  over  her  for  a  long  time,  and 
had  to  send  for  the  doctors,  and  the  Lord  knows 
what" 

"  That's  right,"  said  the  young  man  who  had 
spoken  before.     "  Miss  Nanny  says  that  they  are 

175 


The  Letter  H 


worried  about  her  considerably,  and  there's  two  doc- 
tors there  this  morning.  Nanny  was  trying  to  ex- 
plain to  me  something  about  her  being  a  little  mor- 
bid, or  melancholy,  about  something.  They  do  say 
her  mother  wasn't  over  strong  in  her  mind,  and 
there's  some  story  we  never  heard  the  rights  of  up 
here,  about  how  she  died,  down  in  Louisiana,  when 
the  General  was  captured  by  the  Southerners.  I 
hope  this  ain't  anything  serious,  though." 

The  men  puffed  away  at  their  old  corn-cob  pipes, 
then  Si  said: 

"  The  General  ain't  never  been  the  same  since  he 
came  back  from  the  war;  and  I  couldn't  never 
6traighten  it  out  whether  his  hair  got  so  white  in  the 
rebel  prisons,  or  whether  it  was  by  his  wife.  I  al- 
ways knowed  there  was  somethin'  funny  about  her. 
Perhaps  Miss  Dorus  will  turn  out  a  bit  queer,  too. 
Well,  the  Lord  preserve  the  sweet  young  thing,  and 
the  good  old  General,"  concluded  Si  reverently. 

When  Herman  left  Harlington  Hall  on  the  ill- 
fated  night  of  the  ball,  it  was  with  the  intention 
of  never  looking  his  father  in  the  face  again.  In 
one  hour  his  boyish,  care-free  attitude  towards  life 
had  gone,  and  in  its  place  was  a  new  dignity  of  man- 
hood.     He   had  been  through   the   Valley  of  the 

176 


WTiat  Came  Afterward 


Shadow  of  Doubt,  and  the  journey  though  short 
was  a  hard  one.  It  took  the  smile  away  from  the 
blue  eyes,  and  left  the  face  strong,  and  resolute, 
and  manly.  To  discover  in  little  more  than  a  min- 
ute, without  premonition  or  warning,  that  his  father 
had  lived  a  life  of  deceit,  not  only  to  him,  but  to  this 
poor  Mexican  lady,  was  the  bitterest  of  the  dregs 
of  the  cup  of  which  Herman  Higby  drank. 

If  the  woman  had  been  rich,  or  even  if  she  had 
been  of  the  aggressive  type,  Herman  would  still  have 
felt  the  shame  of  his  father's  act  of  sinning  against 
her.  But  she  was  a  little  woman,  with  dark  eyes 
that  were  pleading  and  wistful,  and  all  the  chivalry 
that  had  lain  dormant  in  the  boy's  make-up  rose  in 
revolt  against  the  idea  of  wronging  her.  That  it 
was  his  own  father  but  made  the  protest  the  stronger. 
He  did  not  remember  his  mother,  but  he  had  heard 
everywhere  of  the  sweetness  and  the  charm  of  Ida 
Delmaine,  and  now  he  wondered  vaguely  if  she,  too, 
had  suffered. 

Herman  went  directly  to  New  York.  His  mother 
had  left  him  a  goodly  income,  and  he  felt  that  with 
this  he  would  not  need  to  appeal  to  his  father.  But 
the  Colonel  sought  him  out,  and,  with  the  wiles  of 
which  he  was  past  master,  induced  the  boy  to  return 

177 


The  Letter  H 


with  him  to  his  cottage  at  Lake  George.  He  proved 
his  innocence  of  the  strange  woman's  charges  to  his 
eon  as  he  had  proved  them  to  the  General.  He  per- 
suaded them  both  that  the  woman  had  lied;  that, 
failing  to  find  his  dead  friend,  she  had  seized  the 
opportunity  to  accuse  him.  Herman  listened  and 
believed,  and  went  with  his  father  to  their  summer 
Lome. 

This  was  pleasanter,  in  that  the  family  from  Har- 
lington  Hall  were  to  spend  the  greater  part  of  a 
month  there,  for  the  sake  of  Dorus's  health.  She 
had  had  a  severe  nervous  shock,  and  the  physicians 
were  in  constant  attendance.  One  thing  that  the 
Colonel  had  failed  to  disclose  to  his  son  was  the  fear 
that  Dorus's  mind  was  unbalanced.  The  doctors, 
among  whom  were  several  specialists,  could  not  ar- 
rive at  a  decision.  While  quite  herself  on  every- 
thing else,  she  seemed  fairly  distracted  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  musician.  She  had  begged  to  see  him, 
had  pleaded,  stormed,  threatened,  but  all  to  no  avail. 
The  musician  and  his  mother  had  dropped  as  com- 
pletely out  of  her  life  as  though  they  were  dead. 
Higby  gloried  in  this,  but  General  Harlington  was 
considerably  worried  about  it  and  made  several 
futile  efforts  to  locate  Ernesto. 

178 


WTiat  Came  Afterward 


When  Higby  had  persuaded  the  General  that  the 
Mexican  woman's  story  was  all  a  myth,  he  urged 
him  to  bring  Dorus  and  Miss  Clifton  to  pay  a  visit 
at  Lake  George,  where  the  Colonel  owned  quite  an 
estate,  and  a  roomy,  comfortable  mansion  called 
Belle  Aire. 

"  It  is  not  much  we  have  to  offer  you,  Horace, 
but  the  air  is  fine,  and  I  know  it  will  do  Dorus  good," 
said  Higby,  concluding  his  argument. 

Virtue  sat  on  Higby  like  the  smile  upon  a  marble 
statue.  He  was  in  a  delicate  position,  but  his  air  of 
aggrieved  innocence  won — from  Harlington  at  least 
— the  old-time  confidence.  This  once  secured,  Higby 
felt  that  his  case  was  concluded  and  dismissed  from 
his  mind  all  thoughts  of  the  Mexican  woman  and  her 
son. 


179 


CHAPTER   XVI 


ON   NEWSPAPER   BOW 


Travis  sat  in  the  inner  sanctum  of  the  editorial 
department  of  his  paper,  a  cigar  between  his  teeth. 
He  did  not  look  the  editor.  About  him,  piled  up 
on  all  sides,  were  copies  of  the  various  editions  of 
rival  papers.  One  or  two  lay  open  upon  the  floor, 
the  later  editions  remained  untouched.  The  man- 
aging editor  was  in  a  reverie. 

Richard  Travis  was  not  like  other  managing  edi- 
tors. The  rush,  and  the  struggle,  and  the  hurry  of 
newspaperdom  had  failed  to  convert  him  from  a 
clean,  wholesome  young  fellow  with  ideals  into  the 
heartless,  unsympathetic  machine  that  it  tried  hard 
to  do.  He  was  clever,  vigilant  and  faithful,  and 
feared  none  of  his  rivals — if,  indeed,  he  feared  any- 
one. His  paper  was  conservative  and  clean  through 
and  through.  There  was  many  an  exclusive  story 
published  under  a  modest  headline  in  its  columns, 
but  it  was  never  accompanied  by  the  blare  of  trum- 
pet, or  sound  of  cymbals,  or  the  modern  substitutes 
for  those  noisy  heralds.     It  was  a  good  newspaper, 

180 


On  Newspaper  Row 


for  the  men  of  the  staff  served  it  faithfully  and  well. 
They  were  made  to  know  that  their  best  efforts  were 
appreciated,  and  that  nowhere  else  could  they  find 
a  more  substantial  token  of  this  same  appreciation 
than  in  their  own  office.  It  was  Travis's  theory  that 
when  one  of  his  own  men  turned  in  a  good  exclusive 
he  was  entitled  to  commendation,  just  as  he  deserved 
criticism  when  he  let  another  paper  get  one  in  ahead 
of  himr 

So  Travis  sat,  this  warm  afternoon  in  August,  in 
the  big  front  office,  the  rival  papers  unopened, 
watching  the  rings  of  smoke  from  his  cigar  rising, 
widening  and  dissolving  in  the  atmosphere. 

"  So  we  come  into  being,  widen  our  sphere  of  use- 
fulness and  finally  dissolve  into  the  air,"  he  mused. 
"  The  world  goes  on  unmoved,  and  who  is  the  better 
for  our  coming  ?  " 

He  was  fingering  a  big  square  envelope,  directed 
in  a  large,  fearless  hand,  with  a  pretty  avoidance 
of  abbreviation,  and  postmarked  a  month  before. 
It  was  an  old  letter  that  had  turned  up  that  day  in 
one  of  the  pigeon-holes  of  his  desk — that  marked 
u  Private." 

"  It's  not  like  Dorus  one  bit,"  he  was  saying  to 
himself,  as  he  brought  his  mind  back  from  the  smoke- 

181 


The  Letter  H 


rings ;  "  not  like  her  in  the  least.  Now,  one  would 
think  from  looking  at  this  that  she  was  a  great,  big, 
athletic  creature,  not  afraid  of  anything  short  of  » 
bull-fight  While,  really,  Dorus  is  rather  frail,  and 
though  morally  she  is  absolutely  fearless,  I — I  don't 
believe  that  you  could  persuade  her  to  go  to  a  bull- 
fight— oh,  no,  not  anything  like  that  It  was  mighty 
nice  of  her  to  write  that  little  note — I  could  do  so 
little  when  she  was  ill,  but  I'm  glad  I  did  what  I 
could,  if  only  for  the  pleasure  of  getting  the  letter 
from  her." 

His  reverie  was  disturbed  by  a  timid  knock  at  the 
door  of  the  inner  sanctum.  Travis  did  no$  move. 
His  back  was  towards  the  door,  and  out  of  the  win- 
dow he  looked  down  upon  the  hot,  crowded  sidewalks. 

Again  the  knock  came.  A  man  caught  in  a  day- 
dream is  much  like  a  schoolboy  caught  walking  with 
a  girl.  He  was  annoyed  at  the  intrusion,  and  conse- 
quently his  answer  was  gruff. 

"  Come  in,"  he  growled. 

He  heard  the  door  open,  but  did  not  turn.  Then 
he  heard  a  step,  and  a  girl's  voice,  6of  t  and  low : 

"Mr.  Travis!" 

He  turned  quickly,  and  rose  hastily  with  an  apology 
on  his  lips.     He  had  never  seen  the  girl  before,  trafl 


On  Newspaper  Row 


something  in  the  daintiness  of  the  blue-and-white 
shirt-waist  suit  and  the  broad,  white  walking-hat  she 
wore  attracted  him.  He  noted  in  a  second  how  blue 
were  her  eyes,  how  sunny  her  hair,  how  smiling  her 
lips.     He  tossed  his  cigar  aside  quickly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  with  grave  courtesy. 
"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  I — I — wanted  to  ask  for  advice,  Mr.  Travis," 
the  girl  said  hesitatingly.  "  I  haven't  been  here 
long,  and  I'm  afraid  that  you  don't  know  me."  There 
was  dismay  in  her  voice. 

Travis  looked  at  her  sharply,  and  remembered 
suddenly  that  she  must  be  the  new  girl  in  the  City 
Room.  Lange  had  told  him  that  she  was  a  thor- 
oughbred, but  he  had  not  imagined  that  she  was 
quite  like  this.  In  a  quick  flash  of  comparison,  the 
managing  editor  saw  the  women  he  had  known  as  he 
fought  his  way  from  the  reporter's  bench  to  the 
desk  of  the  chief  executive  of  the  paper.  Some  of 
them  had  been  good — yes,  but  they  were  old — and 
the  others,  with  their  bold  eyes  and  bolder  manners 
— ah,  no,  she  was  not  like  that.  He  heard  her  voice 
even  while  he  was  wondering  how,  with  her  clear, 
innocent  baby  eyes,  and  her  sunny  hair,  she  had 
drifted  into  the  craft. 

183 


The  Letter  H 


She  was  speaking.  "  I — I — have  a  story,  and  I 
wanted  to  ask  you  about  it." 

Then  he  realized  that  she  was  standing.  "  Oh," 
he  cried,  "  won't  you  sit  down  ?  " 

"  I  won't  be  long,"  she  answered,  a  slight  smile  on 
her  lips,  but  she  impulsively  came  close  to  the  desk. 
She  went  straight  to  the  point: 

"  I  heard,  Mr.  Travis,  that  one  of  the  young  so- 
ciety women  is  out  of  her  mind,  and  I  wanted  to 
know  if  you  wished  the  story  written." 

Travis  looked  down  at  the  girl  quizzically,  and 
wondered  why  she  had  come  to  him  about  it.  There 
was  the  city  editor — he  was  her  chief.  Then  he 
asked  pleasantly: 

"  Do  you  like  to  write  stories  like  that,  Miss " 

"  MaeDonald,"  she  supplied.  Her  face  flushed  at 
his  question,  and  she  looked  startled.  She  waited 
a  minute,  and  then  spoke  slowly: 

"  They  make  good  reading." 

"  Yet  you  want  me  to  say — don't  write  it." 

The  startled  look  came  again  into  her  eyes.  "  I 
wanted  your  advice,"  she  said  simply. 

"  More  than  the  city  editor's  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  presumed  you  would  look  at  it  from  a  different 
standpoint,"  she  said,  with  dignity. 

184 


On  Newspaper  Row 


"  What  made  you  think  that  ? "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  I — I — had  heard  of  you  before  I  came  on  the 
paper,"  she  said,  with  embarrassment;  "  and  then, 
I  had  seen  you,"  as  though  that  settled  the  matter. 

Travis  turned  to  the  outlook  from  his  window,  to 
hide  a  smile.  "  Miss  MacDonald,"  he  said  quietly, 
turning  to  her  again,  "  will  you  explain  the  circum- 
stances, please  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,"  she  answered,  relieved.  "  The  girl, 
it  seems,  has  been  abroad  some  time,  but  since  she 
has  been  home  she  has  had  a  nervous  breakdown, 
and  ever  since  she  has  had  a  curious  infatuation  for 
a  young  musician." 

"  And  the  girl — who  is  she  ?  "  asked  Travis  dryly, 
knowing  what  the  answer  must  be. 

"  She  is  General  Harlington's  only  daughter — 
Why,  Mr.  Travis,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

Travis  had  brought  his  hand  down  fiercely  upon 
his  desk,  with  an  exclamation. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  MacDonald,"  he  said ; 
"  excuse  my  lack  of  control.  No,  you  need  not  write 
the  story  about  Doras  Harlington.  I  have  been 
working  on  it  some  time  myself,  and  I  consider  it 
my  own  story.  If  we  are  beaten  it  will  be  my  fault," 
and  the  managing  editor  smiled  as  he  opened  the 
floor  to  let  the  girl  pass  out 

186 


The  Letter  H 


She  went  away  wondering,  and  as  she  passed  him 
she  said  softly :  "  Thank  you — I  did  not  want  to 
write  the  story." 

When  she  had  gone,  Travis  sat  down  to  reason 
it  all  out  He  had  not  seen  Harlington  or  Dorus 
since  the  ball,  and  the  only  message  he  had  received 
from  them  was  the  little  note  that  Dorus  had  sent 
after  her  sickness,  and  which  even  now  was  crumpled 
in  his  hand.  He  had  seen  his  uncle,  Dr.  Burslem, 
once  or  twice,  and  he  had  relied  on  the  physician's 
information  that  the  girl  was  recovering.  The  an- 
nouncement of  her  condition,  made  in  his  own  office 
as  a  matter  of  news,  was  sufficiently  startling  to  keep 
him  busy.  Then  he  remembered  that  he  had  not 
found  out  from  the  girl  where  the  Harlingtons  were 
at  present — in  fact,  he  had  not  learned  all  she  knew. 
He  realized  that  he  must  see  her  again  and  find  out 
exactly  how  much  of  the  Harlington  family  history 
she  knew.  It  would  never  do  to  have  such  a  story 
get  out  on  Newspaper  Row. 

He  lighted  another  cigar,  and,  in  the  frame  of 
smoke,  he  saw  a  girlish  face  with  the  innocent  blue 
eyes  and  the  baby  lips  of  the  new  woman  on  the 
paper. 

That  night  Travis  dreamed  that  Edith  MacDonald 
186 


On  Newspaper  Row 


— he  had  been  interested  enough  to  look  over  the 
list  of  employees  to  find  her  full  name — had  written 
the  story  of  the  year  about  a  mad  escapade  of  his, 
and  he  could  see  the  blue  eyes,  and  hear  the  girlish 
yoice  say: 
/      "I  did  not  want  to  write  the  story." 

Having  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  new  mem- 
ber of  the  city  staff,  he  seemed  fated  to  meet  her 
everywhere.  Once  they  brushed  elbows  hurrying 
across  City  Hall  Park,  and  unconsciously  he  had 
carried  the  elbow  she  had  touched  quite  stiffly  for  the 
rest  of  that  day.  Then  the  elevator  was  about  to 
start  on  its  upward  journey  one  morning,  when  there 
was  a  sudden  rustle  of  skirts,  and  the  elevator  man, 
with  an  unwonted  smile,  held  his  passengers  waiting 
until  the  girl,  flushed  and  out  of  breath,  was  well 
aboard. 

"  Thank  you,  David,"  she  said,  and  the  elevator 
man  smiled  broadly. 

Travis  watched  her  in  pure  delight.  She  was  the 
first  of  the  feminine  kind  whom  he  had  not  looked 
upon  as  a  problem  to  be  solved.  Indeed,  so  simple 
and  ingenuous  was  she  that  she  did  not  appear  to  be 
a  problem  at  all.  He  noted  how  fresh  and  clear  was 
her  skin,  how  her  lips  parted  for  the  hurried  breath- 

187 


The  Letter  H 


ing.     She  did  not  see  him,  but,  as  he  followed  her 
out  of  the  elevator,  he  said: 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  MacDonald." 

And  she  had  answered :  "  Oh,  Mr.  Travis — goofl 
morning,"  and  tripped  on  to  her  own  department. 

Travis  rarely  went  to  the  city  room.  He  made 
it  a  point  to  let  the  city  editor  rule  supreme  in  his 
own  realm.  But  near  noon  one  day,  shortly  after 
his  first  meeting  with  the  new  girl,  somewhat  to  hiB 
own  surprise,  he  found  himself  at  the  door  of  the 
local  room.  Not  far  from  the  door,  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  sunny  head  bending  down  to  the  desk, 
and  an  arm  in  the  blue-and-white  material  of  her  well- 
remembered  shirt-waist  suit  moving  rapidly  across 
the  paper.  Even  as  he  watched  her,  he  saw  her 
throw  down  her  pencil,  gather  up  the  sheets  of  copy 
and  call: 

"  Boy !  " 

No  one  appeared  to  hear.     She  repeated  the  cry. 

"  Boy ! " 

The  managing  editor  was  the  only  person  near 
enough  to  hear,  and  he  glared  about  for  one  of  the 
boys,  who  at  other  times  seemed  fairly  to  fill  the 
room.  He  caught  Lemmie  by  the  coat  sleeve  as  he 
returned  from  "  rushing  "  copy. 

188 


On  Newspaper  Maw 


"  Miss  McDonald  wants  a  boy,"  said  the  manag- 
ing editor  wrathfully. 

He  walked  over  to  the  girl's  desk.  "  Good-day, 
Miss  MacDonald,"  he  said.  She  looked  up,  surprised 
and  half  frightened.  "  Have  you  any  idea,"  he 
went  on,  "  where  the  Harlingtons  are  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  said,  relieved.  "  They  are 
visiting  the  Higbys,  I  think,  at  their  cottage  at  Lake 
George.  Terribly  swell,  but  not  nearly  as  fine  as 
the  Harlingtons." 

"  I  should  say  not,"  Travis  remarked  gravely. 
"  Thanks,  Miss  MacDonald.  "  I'm  having  poor  luck 
with  my  story." 

"  That's  too  bad,"  was  her  sympathetic  answer. 
"  I'm  sorry." 

"  Would  you — er — mind  telling  me  where  you 
heard  about  it  ?  "  he  questioned  seriously.  "  It's  not 
quite  professional,"  he  added,  as  he  saw  the  startled 
look  in  her  eyes  again,  "  but  I  have  been  wondering 
how  it  could  have  been  heard  down  here  on  News- 
paper Eow." 

"  I  didn't  hear  it  down  here,"  she  laughed.  "  No, 
I  hope  that  for  Dorus's  sake  it  will  not  fall  into  the 
hands  of  other  managing  editors.  It  happens,  Mr. 
Travis,  that  my  home  is  up  in  Newford,  not  very 

189 


The  Letter  H 


far  from  Harlington  Hall,  and  though  I  have  not 
6een  Dorus  for  many  years,  I  sometimes  hear  from 
the  girls  who  know  her,  and  see  her  often.  It  was 
purely  a  private  matter,  but  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  tell 
some  one — I  want  to  be  loyal  to  the  paper,  you 
know." 

"  So  I  see,"  and  Travis  was  thinking  that  she  was 
indeed  a  very  loyal  member  of  the  staff.  "  It  is  not 
always  easy  to  be  loyal  to  our  friends  and  our 
business  interests  at  the  same  time." 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  persisted,  after  a  pause, 
"  whether  it  is  generally  known  up  there — up  where 
the  Harlingtons  live  ?  " 

"  Well,  Dorus  has  always  been  an  unusual  sort 
of  girl.  I  don't  think  any  of  us  understood  her  very 
well.     We  were  all  rather  ordinary,  you  know " 

Travis  was  vigorously  shaking  his  head  in  denial 
of  this. 

"  — and  Dorus  was  really  a  remarkable  child- 
Some  of  the  ideas  she  used  to  have — imagining 
things,  you  know — used  to  quite  scare  me.  Of 
course  it's  as  ignorant  as  it  can  be  to  think  a  person 
isn't  in  her  right  mind  because  she  does  not  act  just 
as  every  one  else  does;  but  what  with  General  Har- 
lington's  social  position  and  Dorus's  beauty,  and  the 

190 


On  Newspaper  Row 


clamoring  there  is  for  news  whether  it  is  true  or  not, 
I  feel  that  if  some  of  the  journals  near  here  were 
to  get  the  least  inkling  of  this  it  would  be  out  in  great 
headlines  that  Dorus  was  insane — and  that  would 
be  too  awful.     I'm  so  glad  I'm  in  this  office." 

She  smiled  so  sweetly  and  frankly  at  him  as  she 
spoke  that  Travis  found  it  hard  to  remember  that 
he  was  trespassing  on  the  city  editor's  time. 

When  he  got  back  to  his  office,  he  tried  seriously 
to  reason  it  all  out.  He  had  certainly  been  drawn 
to  Dorus,  and  her  story  was  an  absorbing  one.  What 
the  Doctor  had  disclosed  concerning  her  mother  and 
her  infancy  was  a  remarkable  tale.  He  reasoned, 
logically  enough,  that  if  the  Harlingtons  were  at  the 
Higby  cottage  Dorus  must  not  only  be  considerably 
better,  but  Herman's  romance  was  progressing. 

"  Heigh  ho !  "  he  said-  "  I  should  like  to  be  on 
hand  to  watch  them." 

Then,  having  finished  the  subject,  he  went  back 
to  his  papers  and  his  cigar;  and  through  the  smoke, 
as  before,  he  saw  the  sweet,  lovely  face  of  the  girl 
in  the  city  room. 

Edith  MacDonald  was  a  girl  of  dreams.  How 
she  got  into  the  office  of  the  "  Metropolitan  "  was  al- 
most as  great  a  mystery  to  her  as  it  was  to  her 

191 


The  Letter  H 


friends,  and  she  marvelled  at  the  chain  of  circum- 
stances that  had  taken  her  there.  The  charm  of  it 
was  upon  her,  and  she  knew  that  as  long  as  the 
"  Metropolitan "  and  Newspaper  Row  would  have 
her,  she  would  stay  with  the  craft.  The  girl  of 
dreams,  in  the  most  practical  place  in  the  world — 
a  newspaper  office — was  in  her  right  sphere. 

One  day  she  picked  up  the  story  of  a  yellow  dog 
that  had  faithfully  guarded  Newspaper  Row  and 
had  been  run  over  by  accident,  and  the  pathos  of  it, 
and  the  humor  of  it,  had  brought  tears  to  the  eyes 
of  thousands  of  readers.  Creel,  the  owner,  and 
Travis,  the  managing  editor,  had  asked,  who  had 
written  it,  and  the  city  editor  had  told  them  with 
no  little  pride. 

The  girl's  salary  was  increased,  and  on  Monday — 
pay  day  at  the  "  Metropolitan  " — she  had  gone  im- 
pulsively to  the  managing  editor  and  thanked  him; 
and  he  noticed  particularly  how  blue  eyes  could  shine 
under  certain  circumstances.  He  had  a  wild  idea 
of  increasing  her  salary  every  week  if  she  would 
come  to  thank  him  each  Monday.  He  remembered 
in  time  that  joys  too  frequent  lose  their  charm,  and 
got  to  wondering  what  else  might  bring  that  soft 
flush  to  the  rosy  cheeks  and  the  shine  to  the  blue 
eyes. 

192 


CHAPTER   XVH 


A   SEWING    LESSON 


The  season  at  Golden  Harbor  was  in  full  swing. 
Never  before  had  there  been  so  great  a  crush  at  the 
Montignac  Inn.  Every  room  in  the  fashionable  hos- 
telry was  occupied,  and  cots  in  the  halls  and  parlors 
were  in  demand.  With  nothing  to  mar  the  sum- 
mer's success  financially,  the  manger,  always  sleek, 
looked  sleeker  than  ever;  and  his  air  of  self-satis- 
faction was  more  than  usually  palpable.  With  its 
picturesque  environment  of  lake  and  hills,  its  croquet 
grounds  and  tennis  courts,  its  livery  facilities  and 
opportunities  for  canoeing,  and  especially  its  at- 
tractive feminine  guests,  no  wonder  the  place  had 
proved  popular — and  profitable  to  the  management. 

This  bright  August  morning  the  management,  in 
the  person  of  Harvey  Crowell,  the  aforementioned 
person  of  sleekness  and  self-satisfaction,  was  par- 
ticularly well  pleased  with  what  he  was  apt  to  term, 
in  similar  instances,  his  luck.  Here,  at  the  very 
height  of  the  season,  his  so-called  orchestra  had 
mutinied  and  left  him  with  the  cheering  prospect  of 

193 


The  Letter  H 


having  to  abandon  the  material  feature — "  dancing 
every  evening."  Were  that  necessary,  he  knew  he 
would  have  to  count  on  a  further  mutiny,  this  time 
by  the  exacting  guests.  But  there  was  his  luck, 
which  he  foolishly  had  left  out  of  consideration. 
With  its  proverbial  fidelity,  the  very  morning  of 
the  mutineers,  departure,  it  had  brought  him  sub- 
stitutes; who,  as  the  days  sped  on,  gave  promise  in 
more  ways  than  one  of  outshining  their  faithless 
predecessors.  Of  further  advantage,  the  change  had 
shown  the  virtue  of  variety;  for  the  advent  of  the 
new  musicians  had  been  like  getting  a  new  toy  for 
a  child,  as  Crowell  put  it.  It  pleased  him  to  consider 
the  boarders  as  his  children,  the  more  so  because  per- 
sonally he  did  not  have  to  pay  for  their  toys. 

This  morning  the  glory  of  the  magnificent  weather 
had  drawn  an  unusual  number  of  guests  to  their  pet 
"  coigns  of  vantage  "  on  the  verandas.  These  were 
quite  impassable;  crowded  with  young  girls  in  gowns 
of  filmy  lawns  and  muslins ;  young  men  in  duck  and 
flannels ;  mothers  with  fancy  work,  or  magazines,  or 
novels, — everyone  was  busily  chatting.  Near  the 
main  entrance  the  groups  sat  quite  close  together, 
and  it  was  into  their  midst  that  Ernesto  unwittingly 
stepped  as  he  came  from  the  office.    Before  he  real- 

194 


A  Sewing  Lesson 


ized  it,  he  was  fairly  in  the  centre  of  an  animated 
party.  Too  late  to  withdraw  gracefully,  he  was 
equally  hindered  from  advancing;  for  the  large 
wicker  chairs  and  their  occupants  blocked  the  way 
to  the  outer  edge  of  the  veranda.  Still  more  embar- 
rassing was  the  almost  instant  cessation  of  the  buzz 
of  conversation ;  and  the  silent  unity  of  the  glances 
he  could  not  help  observing,  came  not  far  from  com- 
pletely disconcerting  him.  Of  course,  it  was  over 
in  a  few  seconds,  but  it  was  painfully  prolonged  to 
the  modest  youth.  He  had  been  there  some  days, 
and  the  favorable  impression  he  had  made  bore  for- 
tunate fruit  in  his  present  predicament.  A  kindly 
and  cordial  "  Good  morning  "  and  a  "  Won't  you  be 
seated  ?  "  from  a  generally  frigid  dowager  soon  put 
him  at  his  ease ;  and,  incidentally,  into  a  chair.  He 
had  been  presented  to  several  of  those  about  him, 
and  with  reassuring  signs  of  approval,  additional  in- 
troductions followed,  until  his  confusion  of  a  moment 
before  was  quite  forgotten. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  del  Tonjours," — it  was  a  pretty,  blue- 
eyed  girl  who  dropped  her  work  and  looked  up  at 
him — "  haven't  your  ears  been  burning  ?  They 
should  have  been,  for  we  have  just  been  talking  about 
you." 

195 


The  Letter  H 


"  Indeed,"  he  returned ;  "  Baying  pleasant  things, 
I  hope." 

"  Of  course  we  were.  We  were  arguing  about 
your  violin.    It's  a  real  Strad',  is  it  not  ?" 

Ernesto  looked  around  the  circle,  then  back  at  the 
questioner.  "  Alas  that  it  is  not,"  he  said ;  "  *  the 
knight  must  win  his  spurs,  the  fiddler  his  Strad'.  I 
shall  be  old  and  fat  by  that  time,  I  fear." 

"  But  yours  sounds  so  beautifully." 

"  Oh,  it  is  the  instrument,  not  the  player,  that  is 
responsible  for  the  music."  Ernesto  looked  search- 
ingly  at  the  girl  and  her  eyes  rebelled  at  meeting  his 
even  half  way.  Her  face  was  very  flushed — perhaps 
at  the  gaze  as  much  as  at  the  words — when  she  re- 
joined: 

"  ISTo,  Mr.  del  Tonjours;  you  know  I  didn't  mean 
that" 

"  How  could  I  know  ?"  impressively,  and,  the  girl 
thought,  coldly. 

To  her  relief,  he  turned  to  one  of  the  older  women 
whom  he  had  met  before. 

"  Working  on  this  glorious  morning  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  do  all  my  em- 
broidery during  the  summer — Miss  MacDonald, 
won't  you  show  me  that  stitch  again  ?" 

196 


A  Sewing  Lesson 


The  older  woman  leaned  towards  the  younger, 
glancing  as  she  did  so  at  the  youth  who  sat  between 
them.  On  his  features  was  an  expression  of  utter 
indifference ;  a  poor  index,  though,  to  the  spirit  be- 
hind his  words,  as  shown  by  his  next  remark.  "Show 
me,  too,  Miss  MacDonald,  won't  you?"  he  said,  ex- 
changing his  seat  for  one  nearer  the  girl. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to."  The  voice  was  low  and 
sweet,  though  quite  matter  of  fact,  as  she  bent  her 
attention  to  the  elder  lady's  request.  But  when 
Mrs.  Nevins  had  been  shown  the  puzzling  stitch,  the 
girl  turned  towards  him  once  more,  though  more 
shyly.  "  Do  you  want  me  to  show  you  here  ?"  she 
ventured,  and  laughing  at  the  simulated  sign  of  hor- 
ror in  his  face  as  he  nodded  negatively,  she  arose, 
and,  carrying  her  embroidery  carelessly  in  one  hand, 
they  walked  together  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
veranda. 

Ernesto  pulled  one  of  the  big,  cosy  rockers  into 
position  for  her,  setting  it  so  that  she  might  look  far 
out  over  the  clear,  blue  stretch  of  the  lake.    His  own 
rigid  wicker  he  placed  so  that  he  could  watch  her  as    >U 
she  talked. 

That  Ernesto  was  a  handsome  fellow  no  one  could 
deny,  and  he  seemed  particularly  so  in  the  rough 

197 


The  Letter  H 


garments  suited  to  country  wear  which  almost  all  the 
masculine  guests  of  the  hotel  affected.  So,  in  the 
matter  of  makeup,  at  least,  Edith  MacDonald  had 
no  fault  to  find  with  her  companion  as  they  lingered 
in  the  shady  corner  of  the  veranda.  In  the  silence 
which  followed  the  first  few  minutes  of  getting 
themselves  comfortably  settled  Edith  felt  a  sugges- 
tion of  embarrassment  and  constraint.  She  won- 
dered if  in  escaping  from  the  crowd  she  had  done 
something  terribly  in  defiance  of  the  conventions. 
She  was  almost  able  to  hear  Mrs.  Grundy's  groan, 
but  there  was  a  shocking  absence  of  remorse  in  her. 
^Neither  was  there  much  reserve  in  the  little  flutter 
she  gave  her  embroidery  hoop  as  she  held  it  near  him. 
The  piece  was  intended  for  a  picture  frame,  and  it 
was  the  daintiest  linen  worked  with  the  palest  of 
wild  roses. 

"  What  will  you  do  with  it  after  I  have  taught  you 
my  new  stitch  ?" 

"  I  would — I  should  put  somebody's  picture  in  it," 
Ernesto  replied. 

"  Oh,  I  meant  the  stitch;  what  would  you  do  with 
the  stitch?" 

"  Do  you  think  that  mere  man  could  even  begin 
to  learn  the  intricacies  of — of  that?"  He  looked 
gravely  at  the  stitches  already  taken  so  exquisitely. 

198 


A  Sewing  Lesson 


"  You  seemed  to  think  that  you  might." 

"  It  would  take — a  long  time  " — hesitatingly,  "  to 
leach  me." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  be  here  a  long  time,"  said  the 
girl. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  the  man. 

"  Why,  I  thought  that  you  and  your  mother  would 
certainly  remain  till  the  close  of  the  season." 

"  No,  it's  not  likely.  We're  rolling  stones ;  we 
come  and  go,  and  we  never  stay  very  long  in  one 
spot.    We're  nomads;  that's  what  we  are." 

"  Why  ?"  the  girl  questioned,  without  thinking. 
She  regretted  this  a  moment  later  as,  watching  him 
closely,  she  saw  his  eyes  close  partially,  and  his  lips, 
that  had  been  laughing,  suddenly  grow  tense. 

"  Why  ?"  he  echoed,  with  just  a  slight  catch  in  his 
tone.  "  Because — but  there's  no  real  reason ;  no 
reason  now  at  any  rate.  We  have  got  into  bad  habits, 
that's  all,  and  keep  on  rolling." 

It  was  not  what  he  said,  as  much  as  something  in 
his  voice  that  told  her  there  was  sorrow  deep  and 
poignant  behind  the  superficial  cynicism. 

"  And  you  will  not  stay  here  long?"  she  repeated. 

"  It  is  not  that  I  will  not,"  he  said.  "  It  is  rather 
that  I  cannot.    I  am  restless." 

199 


The  Letter  H 


The  wild-rose  embroidery  lay  unnoticed  in  the 
girl's  lap;  her  eyes  wandered  vacantly  over  the  ver- 
dant lawn  and  past  the  shore  of  the  inlet,  where  the 
rippling  eddies  broke,  glinted  with  the  radiance  of 
the  meridian  sun.  For  a  moment,  they  saw  nothing, 
though  the  mind  behind  them  travelled  even  beyond 
the  farther  outlines  of  the  bay.  It  was  only  a  mo- 
ment, for  her  companion's  next  words  recalled  her 
wandering  thoughts. 

"  The  world  is  not  gentle  with  a  fellow  who  is 
down,"  he  said  bitterly. 

"  Ah,  but  women  are,"  and  the  girl's  eyes  glis- 
tened ;  "  women's  sympathies  are  always  with  the 
one  who  is  under." 

"  Some  women's,  yes,"  he  conceded;  "  I  must 
admit  that,  for  I  have  known  you." 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  suddenly  looking  up  at  him, 
"  why  you  are  sometimes  so — so  cynical  ?  " 

"  Cynical  ?"  he  repeated.  "  Is  it  another  name  for 
hopelessness  ?"  he  asked  absently. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  it  is  not  that ;  you  are  not  hope- 
less." 

"  When  a  man  has  been  the  fellow  that's  down 
all  his  life,  perhaps  life  is  rather  hopeless  to  him," 
he  vouchsafed,  choosing  his  words  deliberately. 

200 


A  Sewing  Lesson 


She  had  forgotten  all  about  her  fancy  work;  she 
had  ceased  to  speculate  as  to  what  the  other  women 
were  saying  or  thinking  about  her  tete-a-tete  with 
Ernesto.  She  realized  only  that  a  great  wave  of 
pity  for  him  was  sweeping  over  her.  She  had  the 
eturdy  American  spirit,  and  she  could  not  help  ask- 
ing: 

"  Why — why  have  you  been  down  ?"  She  had 
known  of  men  who,  beginning  as  newsboys,  with 
apparently  everything  against  them,  had  risen,  step 
by  step,  to  positions  of  success  and  honor;  and  she 
Aould  not  comprehend  what  conditions  could  keep  a 
man  down — that  is,  for  long. 

For  a  full  minute  the  musician  looked  at  her  earn- 
estly, intensely,  almost  piercingly.  "  You  do  not 
believe  in  Fate  ?"  he  hazarded,  and  his  face  flamed. 

"  Not  the  tiniest  mite,"  she  declared  unreservedly, 
"  not  the " 

"  Yet  when  Fate,"  he  interrupted,  "  when  circum- 
stance, tugs  at  the  wires,  we  all  dance  like  puppets; 
and  some  of  us  dance  to  one  tune,  and  some  to 
another.  Some  of  us  dance  to  "  Shoo  Fly,"  and  some 
to — the  "  Traumerei,"  and  for  some  there  is  only  a 
dirge." 

It  seemed  as  if  she  who  listened  so  intently  to  his 
201 


The  Letter  H 


words  was  farther  than  all  else  from  his  mind;  his 
ejes  were  on  a  small  launch  that  was  cutting  the 
quiet  waters  of  the  lake  and  coming  swiftly  towards 
the  landing. 

"See  the  little  boat?"  he  began  softly.  "See 
how  brightly  it  is  dancing — how  happy,  how  joyous  ? 
It's  a  bright  tune  that  Fate  is  playing  for  it;  but  who 
shall  say  when  the  key  shall  change  and  the  merry 
music  give  way  to  the  rolling  of  the  thunder  and  the 
fury  of  the  storm  ?  " 

"  Fate  has  played  a  bright  tune  for  you,  too,"  ho 
said,  "  but  her  music  to  me  has  been  more  than 
harsh." 

"  Have  you  had  some  great  sorrow  ? "  she  asked, 
awed  somewhat  at  the  temerity  of  her  question. 

"  Sorrow  ?  "  and  he  laughed.  "  What  is  sorrow  to 
shame?  Fate  is  kind  if  she  gives  only  sorrow;  she 
has  given  me — the  other." 

Minutes  passed  before  either  spoke  again.  The 
man  had  never  before  committed  himself  so  frankly 
to  any  person;  the  maid  had  never  seen  so  deeply 
into  another's  heart,  not  even  that  of  her  dearest 
friend.  The  experience  saddened  him,  it  startled 
her. 

It  required  an  effort  to  turn  towards  her,  but  it 
202 


A  Sewing-  Lesson 


did  not  surprise  him  to  see  that  she  had  been  moved, 
and  deeply.  There  was  a  darker  shadow  beneath  her 
eyes,  and  the  laugh  had  left  the  red  lips. 

She  felt  his  gaze  upon  her,  and  looked  up.  "  I  am 
sorry,  very  sorry,"  was  all  she  could  trust  herself  to 
say. 

"  You  have  given  me  back  my  faith  in  women," 
he  said,  and  for  the  time  did  not  dare  go  farther. 

"  And  now,"  he  resumed,  in  a  changed  tone,  "  may 
I  ask  you  a  question  ?  " 

"  You  may,  but  can  I  answer  it  ? "  She  was 
laughing  now. 

"  I  believe  you  can.  It  is :  Do  women  ever  fall  in 
love  with  ideals  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him,  sharply,  but  all  she  saw  was  an 
anxious,  inquiring  gaze.    "  Always,"  was  her  answer. 

"  And  do  the  ideals  ever  materialize  ? "  he  pur- 
sued. 

"  Sometimes,  but  not  often." 

"  And  if  they  did,  would  it  be  something  un- 
usual?" 

His  evident  seriousness  puzzled  her,  but  she  tried 
to  answer  lightly : 

"  Girls  make  their  ideals  fit  the  men — the  men 
they  fall  in  love  with." 

203 


The  Letter  H 


"  I  don't  mean  that,"  said  the  man  thoughtfully. 
"  Do  they — are  there  ever1 — affinities,  shall  I  call 
them,  something  binding  between  people  who  have 
never  seen  eath  other  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  positively,"  the  maid  replied  slowly ; 
"  but  of  course  everyone  has  heard  of  such  cases. 
Just  how  true  they  are  is  a  question." 

The  man  breathed  heavily  a  moment;  then,  lean- 
ing forward,  he  touched  the  wild  rose  frame  ever  so 
lightly.  "  It  is  a  difficult  stitch,  Miss  MacDonald," 
he  said,  "  and  though  I  haven't  mastered  it,  I'm 
obliged  to  you.  Will  you  give  me  another  lesson 
some  day,  please  ?  " 

"  As  I  have  this  morning  ?  "  asked  the  maid. 

"  As  you  have  this  morning,"  said  the  man. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  ventured. 


304 


CHAPTER  XVm 

THE   NEW   AERIVAL  AT   THE   MONTIGNAO 

"  Oh !  Miss  MacDonald !  Miss  MacDonald !  We 
are  going  to  have  a  real  ball  to-night — a  genuine 
hop,  and  we  want  you  to  help  us."  This  in  treble 
diapason  from  a  bevy  of  girls,  who  fairly  flung  them- 
selves upon  the  pair  in  the  shady  corner  of  the  piazza. 
"  We  are  going  down  to  the  village  for  the  dance 
orders,  and  we  want  you  to  go  with  us.    Do  come." 

Ernesto  dropped  back  into  his  chair  as  the  com- 
mittee, having  failed  to  secure  him  as  an  escort, 
started  on  their  errand,  taking  with  them  his  com- 
panion. 

"  So  they  are  going  to  have  a  ball,"  he  mused.  It 
recalled  that  other  ball  which  had  begun  so  like  a 
frolic  and  ended  so  like  a  funeral.  The  remembrance 
of  the  beautiful  girl  of  that  ball  was  ever  present, 
though  he  never  mentioned  her,  even  to  his  mother. 
He  had  locked  the  image  of  her  in  his  heart,  and  his 
thoughts  of  her  were  too  sacred  to  share  with  others. 
His  mother  had  grown  thin  and  wan  since  Higby'3 

205 


The  Letter  H 


brutal  repudiation  of  her.  She  kept  to  her  room, 
appearing  only  when  obliged  to  accompany  Ernesto 
on  the  piano.  The  hope  which  had  buoyed  her  up 
through  all  the  years  of  her  son's  childhood  and  his 
approach  to  man's  estate  had  been  snatched  away. 
She  had  found  her  husband  after  weary  years,  and 
once  more,  as  long  ago  at  Thibodeauxville,  he  had  de- 
nied all  knowledge  of  her.  She  wished  never  to  see 
him  again. 

With  Ernesto  there  was  another  reason  for  re- 
verting again  and  again  to  the  scene  of  that  other 
ball.  The  sad,  lovely  face  of  the  girl  haunted  him 
incessantly.  The  glory  of  her  personality,  and  her 
words — "  It  is  yours  for  the  asking  " — thrilled  him, 
waking  or  sleeping.  He  tried  to  solve  the  problem 
of  her  actions  by  a  score  of  explanations.  Then 
would  come  back  her  passionate  speech,  "  but  I  love 
you;  how  I  love  you !  "  and  then — the  memory  of  the 
touch  of  her  delicate  little  hands  upon  his,  as  they 
sat  in  the  woody  bower.  He  remembered  her  per- 
fectly as  she  was  the  night  of  the  ball — so  frail,  so 
fair  in  her  gown  of  shimmering  tulle,  with  the  blush 
roses  on  her  breast  and  the  radiance  of  love  reflected 
in  her  eyes.  He  remembered  how  proudly  she  had 
borne  herself;  how  proudly  she  had  said  before  them 

206 


The  New  Arrival  at  the  Montignac 

all :  "  He  is  my  guest."  His  thoughts  were  almost 
more  than  he  could  bear  when  they  were  interrupted 
by  the  arrival  of  the  hotel  'bus  with  the  week's-end 
guests,  which  proved  to  be  mainly  a  welcome  con- 
tingent of  men. 

Ernesto  swung  his  chair  around  and  sat  watching 
the  newcomers  as  they  reached  the  veranda.  What 
a  fuss  the  women  made !  How  their  tongues  did  go ; 
how  glad  they  seemed  to  see  the  men.  Yet  they 
had  seemed  well  satisfied  before.  Suddenly  the  Mexi- 
can leaned  forward,  an  exclamation  of  surprise  escap- 
ing him. 

A  man  had  jumped  into  view  from  the  farther 
end  of  the  coach  as  it  stood  before  the  main  entrance 
door.  His  hair  was  almost  white,  but  his  face  was 
ruddy  and  youthful.  There  seemed  to  be  no  one 
waiting  to  welcome  him,  and  as  he  ran  up  the  steps 
and  entered  the  hall,  Ernesto  saw  him  speak  to  the 
manager,  who  stood  beaming  on  the  threshold.  Be- 
fore this  arrival  had  finished  entering  in  a  bold 
hand  on  the  register,  Ernesto  had  risen  and  sauntered 
close  enough  to  the  desk  to  note  where  the  signature 
was  placed.  Presently  he  had  a  chance  to  see  the 
entry  and  read  the  name. 

"  Richard  H.  Travis— New  York." 

207 


The  Letter  H 


The  musician  had  had  enough  of  society,  and  leav- 
ing the  house  by  a  side  door,  he  went  down  the  path 
to  the  boathouse.  Unfastening  one  of  the  cedar 
skiffs  and  getting  in,  he  pulled  towards  a  little  point 
that  jutted  into  the  inlet,  a  mile  to  the  north. 

It  was  a  pretty  spot  towards  which  he  was  rowing. 
He  had  found  the  air  there  sweeter,  the  aroma  of 
the  balsam  more  invigorating,  and  the  view  from  the 
pigmy  peninsula  of  wider  scope  than  from  any  other 
place  within  a  reasonable  distance. 

"  Travis !  Travis !  "  he  repeated  the  name.  It 
meant  nothing  to  him.  Yet,  midst  his  dreams  of  the 
Harlington  ball  a  while  before,  that  face  had  crossed 
his  vision  as  if  in  veritable  resurrection.  He  had 
seen  it  there,  he  knew,  yet  he  could  not  place  any 
circumstance  with  it  that  might  aid  his  memory.  Was 
it,  after  all,  at  the  hotel  in  Newf ord ?  He  smiled  as 
he  thought  of  old  Si  and  his  tactless  curiosity.  "No, 
he  reassured  himself,  it  was  surely  at  the  house;  it 
was  among  that  sea  of  faces  that  had  turned  towards 
him  and  the  young  mistress  of  Harlington  as  they 
danced  together.  He  wondered  how  many  of  that 
throng  would  recognize  him  now;  he  wondered  if 
this  Travis  would  recognize  him. 

The  boat  slid  easily  upon  the  shore,  and  Ernesto 
208 


The  New  Arrival  at  the  Montignac 

sprang  out  and  hauled  the  light  thing  out  of  the 
water.  A  few  yards  inland  he  threw  himself  down 
under  the  shadow  of  the  largest  canopy  of  pine  and 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  current  periodical.  Listlessly 
he  turned  the  pages;  their  contents  were  not  as  in- 
teresting as  when,  some  hours  before,  he  had  laid 
the  magazine  aside  to  find  a  place  on  the  hotel 
veranda.  "  A  Japanese  Rosamund,"  "  The  Oomedy 
of  a  Comedian" — neither  could  ensnare  his  attention. 
Then  he  came  to  "  Hereditary  Manias,"  and  as  he 
scanned  the  leaves  of  this  treatise,  his  eye  caught 
the  sentence:  "It  is  infrequently  observed  that  in- 
herited mania  expresses  itself  in  actions  in  direct 
opposition  to  its  expression  in  the  mother  or  father, 
or,  in  some  cases,  in  the  grandparent  of  the  afflicted. 
Hate  becomes  love ;  love,  hate.  A  mania  for  charita- 
ble work  possessed  in  a  parent  has  been  known 
to  be  transformed  in  the  child  to  a  powerful  aver- 
sion to  the  same.  .  .  .  There  is  one  case 
on  record  in  which  the  mania  asserted  itself  in  this 
way;  but,  with  the  turning  of  the  ideas  of  the  victim 
into  the  direction  followed  by  those  of  the  parent,  the 
disease  left  the  body  of  the  victim  entirely,  and  the 
latter  was  restored  to  his  normal  state." 

"  It  is  an  ideal  place;  no  better  could  be  found." 
209 


The  Letter  H 


Ernesto  was  startled  by  the  proximity  of  the  voice, 
and  still  more  so  by  the  familiar  ring  in  it  which  he 
immediately  detected. 

"  If  anything  will  cure  her,  this  air  will,"  it  went 
on.  Then  another  equally  familiar  voice  replied: 
"  This  pine  grove  is  the  finest  within  miles.  We  must 
bring  her  here  every  day;  this  ozone  is  a  perfect 
elixir." 

"  She  seems  to  be  finally  on  the  way  to  recovery." 

"  Oh,  she'll  get  over  it,"  the  voices  were  moving 

away,  "  just  leave  her  to "  and  only  an  indistinct 

murmur  floated  back  to  the  recumbent  listener. 

Ernesto  crushed  the  leaves  of  the  magazine  to- 
gether. "  Curse  that  ball !  "  he  cried,  fretfully. 
"  Eirst  it's  that  new  man  at  the  house.  Now  it's  those 
voices !  Hanged  if  the  thing  isn't  getting  into  my 
brain.  Here  goes  for  a  jolly  good  swim,  and  may  it 
help  me  to  forget  the  whole  business." 

The  measure  seemed  to  have  been  effectual,  for 
when  he  got  back  to  the  hotel  for  a  late  dinner  he 
sprang  lightly  up  the  steps;  his  face  aglow  with 
health,  his  dark  hair  clinging  to  his  forehead.  As 
he  entered  the  hall  he  met  the  girl  of  his  piazza 
tete-a-tete. 

"  Had  you  a  pleasant  walk  ?  "  he  greeted  her. 
210 


The  New  Arrival  at  the  Mvntignac 

"  Oh,  very,"  she  acknowledged;  "  and  you?  " 

"  An  excellent  row  and  swim." 

She  was  looking  out  of  the  door.  Across  the 
threshold  a  shadow  fell;  and  the  gray-haired,  young- 
ish-looking man  who  had  been  among  the  morning 
arrivals  came  into  the  lobby.  The  girl  saw  him, 
and  instantly  a  deep  flush  mantled  her  cheeks.  As 
she  moved  quickly  as  though  to  escape  from  both 
men,  Ernesto  made  good  his  retreat  before  the 
stranger  had  a  chance  to  see  him.  But  there  was  no 
doubt  that  Travis  saw  the  girl. 

"  Miss  MacDonald !  " 

Travis  came  towards  her  with  a  compelling,  frank 
gladness.  As  impulsively  as  she  would  have  avoided 
the  meeting,  she  gave  him  a  rather  willing  hand. 

"  I'm  awfully  pleased  to  see  you,  Mr.  Travis,"  she 
said. 

"  !Not  half  as  glad  as  I  am  to  see  you,"  he  returned 
gallantly,  still  holding  the  hand  he  had  taken. 

"  How  did  you  get  up  here  ?  "  she  queried.  She 
had  forgotten  about  the  hand. 

"  Part  of  the  way  on  the  train,"  he  rallied  her, 
"  the  rest  of  the  way  on  an  old  tub  of  a  boat."  With 
the  laugh  that  followed  she  remembered  her  hand, 
and  wriggled  it  from  the  firm  grasp. 

211 


TJie  Letter  H 


"  I  was  so  glad  to  see  you,  I  forgot,"  he  apologized, 
and  then  wondered  why  she  frowned  just  a  tiny  bit. 

"  Have  you  dined  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Not  yet,"  the  girl  replied.    "  Have  you?  " 

"  No,  and  I  hope  they'll  put  me  beside  you." 

"  Will  you  not  sit  with  your  friends  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  As  I  said,  I  hope  to,"  he  retaliated.  "  You  see, 
I  haven't  any  but  you." 

"  You  poor  man,"  she  rejoined  laughingly,  and 
with  no  noticeable  restraint. 

Later  she  was  surprised  to  find  that  they  had 
placed  him  very  near  her.  The  small  table  at  which 
she  sat  had  been  placed  so  that  she  had  an  unimpeded 
view  of  the  little  harbor.  Now  another  table  had 
been  set  directly  in  this  line  of  vision,  and  at  one 
side  Travis  was  installed. 

Immediately  after  dinner  Travis  joined  her  on  the 
veranda.  "  Won't  you  come  out  on  the  water  ?  "  he 
asked.  And  a  few  minutes  later  she  was  seated  in  a 
skiff. 

"  Mr.  Travis,  you  didn't  know  I  was  here,  did 
you  ? "  she  asked,  as  she  settled  her  skirts.  Travis 
was  struggling  with  the  painter,  and  at  this  he  bent 
lower  and  struggled  harder. 

"  How  could  I  know  ?  "  he  answered,  and  his  smile 
was  unseen.    "  You  ran  away  without  telling  me." 

213 


The  New  Arrival  at  the  Montignac 

"  I  didn't  think  you  would  be  interested,"  she  ven- 
tured, and  when  he  looked  up,  she  too,  was  smiling. 

"  I  take  a  personal  interest  in  all  of  my  men,  or, 
rather,  I  should  say,  my  entire  staff,"  was  his  retort. 

When  they  had  returned  and  Edith  was  in  her 
room  dressing  for  the  dance,  as  she  slipped  her  little 
gold  locket  about  her  throat  and  arranged  the  folds 
of  her  shimmering  pink  gown,  she  laughed  to  her- 
self :  "  I  wonder  if  you  take  enough  interest  in  all 
your  staff  to  see  that  they  have  a  good  time  on  their 
vacations — you  silly,  silly  man."  An  hour  later, 
when  she  had  finished  the  first  dance  with  Travis, 
she  had  ceased  to  wonder.  And  it  would  not  be 
breaking  confidence  to  tell  that  she  was  ready  to 
believe  when  the  ball  was  over  that  she  had  never 
danced  before. 

Not  a  word  had  been  said  as  they  glided  over  the 
waxed  floor.  Near  the  doorway  Signora  del  Tonjours 
sat  at  the  piano ;  and  beside  her  stood  Ernesto.  How 
soft,  how  sweet,  the  music  was!  Edith  had  never 
heard  a  more  caressing  melody.  Nearer  and  nearer 
they  came  to  the  music — now  they  were  going  to 
turn — now  they  were  almost  touching  the  musicians. 

"  Holy  Smoke !  "  Travis's  ill-repressed  ejaculation 
brought  their  waltz  to  a  sudden  end.    The  girl  could 

213 


The  Letter  H 


feel  his  deep  breathing,  and  she  looked  up,  fright- 
ened at  she  knew  not  what.  Travis  was  staring  at 
the  violinist,  while  the  violinist  was  steadfastly  fol- 
lowing the  score  on  the  rack  before  him.  Edith  felt 
herself  drawn  out  of  the  room. 

"  Will  you  forgive  my  rudeness,  Miss  Mac- 
Donald  ?  "  her  partner  begged.  "  My  only  excuse  is 
that  musician.  He  looks  infernally  like  the  Mexican 
in  poor  Dorus  Harlington's  case." 


214 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   LOVE   MAKING   OF    HERMAN 

"  We  have  had  a  long  walk.  You  must  be  fa- 
tigued."   It  was  a  man's  voice,  solicitous  and  gentle. 

"  Why  should  I  be  ? "  It  was  a  girl's  voice,  petu- 
lant and  cross. 

The  man's  face  flushed,  and  he  closed  his  lips  reso- 
lutely. 

"  Won't  you  sit  here  ? "  he  asked,  with  restraint, 
indicating  a  rustic  seat. 

"  Thank  you,  I  will  sit  here,"  said  the  girl,  seat- 
ing herself  in  a  little  hollow  in  the  rock  which  formed 
a  natural  seat. 

Behind  them  was  Belle  Aire — a  long,  wide,  ram- 
bling, rustic  house.  The  shingles  were  unpainted, 
and  the  veranda  ran  all  the  way  around  the  build- 
ing. It  was  a  picturesque  abode,  fitting  in  well  with 
the  miles  and  miles  of  woodland  behind  it,  the  hills 
all  about,  and  the  blue  lake  stretching  away  to  the 
north  and  south. 

Dorus  looked  out  over  the  lake.  Her  face  was 
215 


The  Letter  H 


thinner  than  it  had  been  that  June  morning  on 
board  the  AUruria,  when  the  salt  breeze  brought 
the  roses  to  her  cheeks  and  tossed  her  little  waving 
curls  about.  Her  eyes  were  dull,  and  the  long  lashes 
Bhadowing  them  made  them  soft  and  pathetic.  When 
she  spoke,  a  suggestion  of  satire  played  about  her 
lips,  and  beyond  the  gray  of  her  eyes  was  a  fathom- 
less mystery.  Her  expression  was  sometimes  banter- 
ing, sometimes  questioning;  but  the  moment  it  set- 
tled into  repose,  the  patient  sadness  was  there. 

It  was  there  now,  indelibly  marked  on  every 
feature  of  her  face.  Silently  she  gazed  far  out  over 
the  lake  to  the  purple  hills  in  the  distance,  and  the 
man  beside  her  watched  her  narrowly.  His  nature 
was  waking  up  slowly  to  something  he  had  never 
known  before.  Herman  Higby  had  grown  up  so 
much  alone  that  as  a  natural  result  he  was  essentially 
selfish.  He  had  never  known  his  mother,  and  years 
away  from  home  had  made  his  father  little  more 
than  a  stranger  to  him.  The  doubt  that  Herman 
entertained  of  his  father  had  not  quite  gone,  although 
he  would  scarcely  admit  this  to  himself.  He  was  in- 
tellectual, and  well  informed  in  matters  that  interest 
a  cultivated  mind,  but  his  manner  of  expression  was 
often  bookish.    In  his  short  existence  there  had  been, 

216 


The  Love  Making"  of  Herman 

as  yet,  no  need  for  unselfish  devotion.  His  love  for 
Doras  had  been  the  strongest  affection  of  his  life,  but 
even  this  had  been  somewhat  weakened  by  the 
thought  that,  owing  to  the  parental  agreement,  she 
would  surely  be  his  wife.  Until  her  return,  he  had 
never  realized  that  Doras  might  slip  out  of  his 
bands,  yet  now  he  was  obliged  to  face  this  problem. 
The  indifference  that  had  made  itself  actively  felt 
during  all  the  time  that  she  had  been  home  but  en- 
hanced her  charm  to  the  young  man.  He  had  been 
so  encompassed  with  his  own  interests  that  he  had 
hardly  considered  the  probable  result  of  two  years 
abroad.  He  had  never  dreamed  that  her  sphere 
would  widen  into  a  world  in  which  there  was  no 
room  for  him,  and  day  after  day  he  tried  to  interest 
her,  to  win  her  regard,  to  find  any  way  to  her  heart 
For  from  the  first  moment  that  he  had  set  eyes  upon 
her,  he  had  been  desperately,  madly  in  love. 

The  sweet  lovableness  of  her  face,  with  its  strange 
beauty,  called  to  arms  all  the  manhood  that  was  in 
him.  Her  quick,  impulsive  speeches  he  found  charm- 
ing. Even  the  curious  aberration  shown  in  her  esca- 
pade with  the  musician  became  of  less  and  less  im- 
portance to  him  as  he  saw  more  and  more  of  the  girl. 
She  was  so  sweetly  yielding  at  times,  so  wilful  again, 

217 


The  Letter  H 


and  the  charm  of  her  was  her  very  variableness.  In 
her  gentler  moods,  when  she  let  him  talk  to  her  of 
his  hopes  and  his  ambitions,  he  adored  her;  in  her 
bantering  moods,  when  she  laughed,  at  him  for  his 
pedantic,  bookish  expressions,  he  loved  her,  despite 
her  raillery;  even  when  she  was  cross  and  petulant, 
he  loved  her  still. 

Down  near  the  shore,  in  a  clump  of  trees,  was  a 
hammock.  Over  the  tops  of  the  trees  Dorus  fixed 
her  eyes  on  a  little  rock  that  jutted  out  into  the 
water.  Herman  followed  her  gaze,  and  thought  she 
was  looking  at  the  hammock. 

"  Won't  you  go  down  by  the  lake  and  rest  in  the 
hammock  I  "  he  asked. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  girl,  indifferently ;  "  it 
would  take  a  grand  convulsion  of  nature  to  throw 
me  into  a  restful  mood — a  terrible  earthquake,  for 
instance." 

Herman  compressed  his  lips.  It  was  a  little  trick 
he  had  when  he  was  puzzled.  He  leaned  over  and 
looked  at  her  with  positive  adoration.  She  seemed 
altogether  perfect,  this  slip  of  a  girl,  with  her  wide, 
gray  eyes  and  masses  of  soft  brown  hair;  but  there 
was  a  joy  of  argument  that  even  Herman  could  not 
resist.    It  is  the  heart's  desire  of  every  man  to  stir 

218 


The  Love  Making  of  Herman 

up  the  splendor  in  a  woman's  eyes  and  the  flashes 
of  her  wit. 

"  That  is  where  you  make  a  mistake,  Dorus,"  Her- 
man began,  with  a  sudden  feeling  that  she  was  capa- 
ble of  making  mistakes.  "  You  are  too  self-reliant. 
It  is  unfeminine.  You  should  cultivate  a  desire — a 
feeling — you  should  acknowledge  the  want  of  some- 
body— I  mean  something  stronger  than  yourself — 
to  lean  upon."  Herman  uttered  the  words  with  a 
pang  of  conscience  at  saying  it  was  unfeminine  to  be 
so  bewitchingly  contrary. 

"  Well,"  said  Dorus,  "  this  rock  seems  to  be  quite 
firm,  and  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  its  ability  to 
sustain  me." 

"  Do  not  jest,  Dorus.  From  the  tree  and  the  vine, 
men  and  women  can  learn  a  lesson.  Did  you  ever 
observe  the  sturdy  oak?" 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  interrupted  Dorus,  jumping  up 
quickly,  "  many,  many  times." 

Herman  looked  surprised.  "  What  ?  "  he  asked, 
in  astonishment.  After  all,  he  had  never  had  much 
to  do  with  women. 

"  I  mean  the  story  of  the  sturdy  oak  and  the  cling- 
ing vine,"  answered  Dorus  shortly.  "  Please  don't 
tell  it  again,  but,  if  you  must,  please  make  the  tree 

219 


The  Letter  H 


a  sugar  maple — I  should  much  prefer  clinging  to  a 
sugar  maple  than  an  oak." 

Herman  laughed,  though  he  felt  hurt  that  she 
should  speak  lightly  of  what  he  considered  of  such 
vast  moment;  but  the  half -merry,  half -cynical  ex- 
pression of  her  lips  was  too  much  for  his  sense  of 
humor: 

"  My-Tomance  is  all  thrown  away  on  you,  Doras. 
I  soar  up  into  the  regions  of  poetry,  and " 

"  I  come  down  to  maple  sugar,"  Doras  finished  the 
sentence  for  him.  "  Well,  the  fact  is,  Herman,  I  am 
so  decidedly  practical  that  I  prefer  a  griddle-cake  to 
a  sonnet;  and  think  maple  sugar  sweeter  far  than 
Tom  Moore  or  Tennyson.  It's  a  mere  matter  of 
taste,  you  know." 

Herman  still  looked  at  her,  the  adoration  in  his 
eyes  unconcealed.  "  Doras,"  he  said,  "  if  you  really 
are  so  practical,  let  us  talk  about  a  practical  matter 
which  to  me  is  far  sweeter  than  poetry,  and  which  I 
hope  has  more  charms  for  you  than  maple  sugar." 

"  It  must  be  a  sweet  subject,"  said  the  girl,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  It  is — yourself,"  said  Herman,  almost  rever- 
ently. "  It  is  you,"  he  repeated,  "  you,  and  the  plans 
of  our  fathers.     Can't  you  guess  what  it  is,  dear  ? " 


The  Love  Making  of  Herman 

he  spoke  the  last  word  so  softly  that  it  seemed  less 
than  a  whisper. 

"  Plans  ?  "  questioned  Doras,  absently.  "  No ! 
Are  we  all  going  to  Niagara  or  the  Yosemite  ?  " 

The  man's  hands  twitched  and  his  lips  closed — 
that  little  trick  of  his.  "  Anywhere  yon  wish,  Do- 
ras," he  said,  low  and  tensely. 

The  girl  moved  nervously.  There  was  the  tired 
look  in  her  eyes,  and  a  patient  little  droop  at  her 
lips.  She  felt  that  she  had  done  all  she  could  to  ward 
off  the  issue,  and  she  was  conscious  of  her  incapacity 
to  keep  it  away  any  longer. 

Herman  waited  an  instant  and  then  said :  "Bridal 
tours  are  usually  of  an  erratic  nature." 

"  Why,  who  is  going  to  be  married  ?  "  asked  Doras. 
"  Not  my  father,  surely — it  must  be  yours."  She 
turned  to  him,  her  eyes  filled  with  mock  seriousness. 
"  Herman,  I  hope  your  father  has  made  a  good  choice 
—that  he  has  found  a  woman  who  will  be  a  mother 
to  you — bring  you  up  well — and  make  a  good  man 
of  you." 

When  Doras  stopped,  she  was  laughing  merrily  at 
the  flushed  face  of  the  young  man.  Herman  was 
nonplussed.  He  was  really  serious — too  serious  to 
have  the  girl  laughing  at  him. 

221 


The  Letter  H 


"  Dorus,"  he  said,  "  you  are  incorrigible."  Then 
he  grew  grave :  "  For  eighteen  years  our  fathers 
have  had  a  pleasant  dream.  That  dream  was  to  see 
lis — you  and  I,  Dorus — man  and  wife." 

The  girl  turned  away  wearily :  "  If  they  have  had 
such  a  nice  time  for  eighteen  years,  Herman,  dream- 
ing about  it,  don't  let  us  wake  them  up.  Let  them 
dream  on — forever." 

"  Dorus,"  said  the  man,  his  steel-blue  eyes  full  of 
the  unutterable  things  a  man  thinks  but  once  in  his 
life,  "  Dorus,  are  you  trifling  with  me  ?  Can  you  be 
so  cruel  and  heartless  ?  " 

The  girl  was  silent.  Her  gray  eyes  were  very  soft 
now,  and  full  of  some  far-away  dream.  Then  she 
rose  and  straightened  her  shoulders,  as  a  man  would 
do. 

"  I  think  you  are  the  cruel  and  heartless  one.  I 
came  here  at  your  father's  urgent  invitation  to  have 
a  good  time  during  your  vacation.  We  might  have 
gone  on  enjoying  ourselves,  having  lots  of  fun,  but 
now  you  have  gone  and  spoiled  it  all.  I  wish  I  had 
not  come.  I  wish  you  were  back  at  college.  There 
will  be  no  peace  for  us  now.  I  shall  get  nervous, 
have  headaches  and  be  cross,  and  make  myself  and 
everybody  else  miserable.     I  don't  understand  it." 


The  Love  Making  of  Herman 

"  Had  I  known  Miss  Harlington,"  began  Herman, 
contritely,  but  he  was  cut  short  by  Dorus,  who  turned 
on  him  with  a  real  display  of  feeling : 

"  !Now  stop,  you — you —  "  she  seemed  unable  to 
find  the  word  that  she  wanted — Miss  Harlington! 
Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  Mr.  Higby?  Her- 
man, don't  let  us  have  any  nonsense." 

Herman's  face  was  white  to  the  roots  of  his  hair, 
and  his  expression  was  most  supplicating.  "  Dorus,  I 
won't,"  he  said  gently.  "  I  was  a  fool  to  dream,  as 
our  fathers  are  doing.  I  thought — they  told  me — 
but  I  know  now  that  they  did  not  know  you,  dear. 
Dorus —  "  he  bent  towards  her  just  as  a  sudden  gust 
of  wind  sent  a  wisp  of  brown  silken  hair  over  her 
white  forehead.  He  drew  himself  up  quickly,  with 
a  half -smothered  sound  that  might  have  been  a  gasp, 
and  might  have  been  a  sob 

"  Dorus,  just  one  question.    May  I  hope  ?  " 

She  turned  her  face  towards  him  sadly.  "  She 
must  be  merciless  indeed  who  would  deprive  one  of 
so  trifling  a  solace,"  she  said  softly. 

"  When — when — can  I  hope — again  ?  "  he  stam- 
mered. 

"  I  do  not — await  my  answer.  If  I  send  for  you, 
come ;  if  not "  There  was  a  pause;  then  he  said : 

"  I  understand." 


The  Letter  H 


He  started  off  alone  towards  the  cottage,  but 
stopped  to  ask,  "  Are  you  going  in,  Dor  us  ?  " 

"  Not  now,  Herman.  If  you  don't  mind,  I  will  sit 
here  awhile  and  think — of  you,"  she  glanced  up 
brightly  at  him. 

He  bowed,  with  something  of  the  old-style  cour- 
tesy of  the  General : 

"  I  could  have  no  pleasanter  thought  than  that 
you  are  thinking  of  me,"  he  said,  and  again  turned 
towards  the  cottage. 

For  a  few  minutes  Dorus  sat  quietly  where  he 
had  left  her,  her  thoughts  far  away.  She  remem- 
bered, with  sudden  contrition,  the  day  she  had  pushed 
Herman  Higby's  picture  down  behind  her  dressing- 
table.  She  remembered  how  glad  she  had  been,  that 
first  year,  to  be  away  from  him,  and  how  resolutely 
she  had  put  him  out  of  her  thoughts.  She  had  come 
to  know,  though  how  she  could  not  tell,  of  the  com- 
pact that  bound  her  to  the  lad;  and  at  first  the  idea 
had  been  repugnant  She  thought  of  the  strange 
dream  that  had  come  to  her  again  and  again;  and 
of  how  she  had  felt  her  life  inextricably  interwoven 
with  the  life  of  another.  Of  that  dream,  she  had 
never  been  able  to  rid  herself — it  had  been  with  her 
night  and  day;  and  the  face  the  dream  had  brought 

224 


The  Love  Making  of  Herman 

— the  dark,  strong,  resolute  face,  with  its  sad,  accus- 
ing eyes — had  been  painted  on  her  heart  with  the 
brush  of  eternity.  For  an  instant  she  thrilled  again 
as  she  had  done  that  June  morning  on  her  way  into 
the  Grand  Central,  as  she  had  brushed  against  some 
one,  and  turned  to  find  the  dream-mam  Then  it 
seemed  as  though  she  heard  the  sad,  plaintive  melody 
of  the  "  Traumerei ;  "  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees 
her  face  flushed  with  ecstasy.  She  saw  him  as  he 
stood  in  the  mottled  shadows  of  the  woodland  bower, 
the  sun  lighting  up  the  dark  ruddy  brown  of  his  face. 
Thus  she  went  over  all  the  history  of  her  strange 
love,  indelible  in  her  memory;  relentlessly  painting 
every  detail  in  colors  that  were  only  too  true,  and  too 
fascinating. 

"  Ernesto!"  she  breathed  softly.  Then — of  a  sud- 
den— the  pain  of  it  swept  over  her,  and  she  grew 
white  at  thought  of  the  future ;  for  she  knew,  in  that 
one  bleak  moment  of  despair,  that  the  object  of  her 
love  might  as  well  be  the  stars  as  the  musician, 
Ernesto  del  Tonjours.  Then  her  thoughts  came 
back  to  Herman,  and  it  seemed  as  though  the  dream- 
man  and  the  musician,  who  were  the  same,  had  been 
standing  between  them  for  years  before  she  had 
seen  him. 

MB 


CHAPTER  XX 

A   KETBOSPECT   AND   A   FORECAST 

"  But  I  sav,  young  man — "  Travis  flicked  the  ashes 
from  his  cigar — "  how  did  you  happen  to  know  Miss 
Harlington  ?  " 

Midnight  had  long  since  gone  by,  and  the  last  of 
the  boarders  had  betaken  themselves  to  their  rooms. 
Out  on  the  veranda,  in  the  pale  light  of  the  moon, 
the  musician  and  the  newspaper  man  sat  talking  con- 
fidentially. After  Travis's  first  surprise,  he  had 
quickly  made  up  his  mind  that  before  the  night  was 
over  he  would  have  some  sort  of  an  explanation  of 
the  mysterious  scene  at  the  Harlington  Hall  ball.  He 
found  Ernesto  in  a  responsive  mood.  In  fact,  the 
Mexican  was  as  eager  for  an  explanation  of  his  hither- 
to unaccountable  intimacy  with  Dorus  Harlington  as 
was  Travis.  Reason  as  he  might,  Ernesto  could  not 
fathom  the  motive  of  the  girl's  caprice,  or  his  own 
peculiar  sensations,  and  he  welcomed  the  promise 
of  anything  that  gave  hope  of  throwing  some  light 
upon  his  bewildered  brain. 

226 


A  Retrospect  and  a  Forecast 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  the  musician,  in  re- 
sponse to  the  question,  "  I  don't  know — I  really  don't 
know — how  I  did  manage  to  get  mixed  up  in  the 
affair.  Of  course,  you  know  my  relation  to  Higby — 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  he  lied  when  he  said 
that  I  was  not  his  son  ?  " 

He  waited  for  an  answer. 

"  I  surmised  as  much.    Go  on." 

"  Well,  the  morning  of  the  ball,  my  mother  and  I 
arrived  at  Newford,  and  I  started  out  for  a  walk, 
and  stumbled,  quite  unexpectedly,  upon  the  old 
house.  Believe  me,  Mr.  Travis,  I  had  never  heard 
of  the  Harlington  house  at  Newford  until  I  came 
upon  it ;  and,  in  fact,  I  did  not  know  that  it  was  the 
home  of  General  Harlington  until  after  I  had  seen 
and  talked  with  his  daughter. 

"  How  very  strange !  "  said  Travis. 

"  Strange !  "  echoed  Ernesto,  "  the  whole  thing 
was  most  unusual,  for  I  began  to  play,  a  thing  I 
would  not  dream  of  doing  ordinarily  when  I  was  so 
near  a  house ;  and  I  played  Schumann's  old  air  of  the 
"  Traumerei "  over  and  over  again,  as  though  I  was 
repeating  a  call  to  some  one.  I  waited  in  all  expec- 
tancy, feeling  that  I  would  be  answered.  Then — I 
assure  you  that  I  am  telling  the  exact  truth — I  felt 

227 


The  Letter  H 


irresistibly  drawn  across  the  lawn.  I  tried  to  turn 
back,  but  that  was  impossible.  I  came  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  house,  until  I  entered  the  library  and 

found  the  young  lady,  and "  there  was  a  long 

silence. 

"  Well  ?  "  questioningly. 

"  Well,"  Ernesto  sighed,  "  it  seemed  as  though  we 
had  known  each  other  for  years.  At  least,  she  said 
it  seemed  that  way  to  her,  and  then  I  knew  that  that 
was  the  way  I  felt.  She  looked  so  sweet  and  young 
that  I  knew  it  would  be  unmanly  for  me  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  situation.  Some  curious  power  seemed 
to  be  controlling  us  both,  and  I  tried  to  use  all  my 
force  of  will  against  it.  I  got  away  as  soon  as  I 
could." 

"  That  was  all  ?  "  asked  Travis,  curiously. 

"  That  was  all — from  that  time  on  she  appeared 
to  want  me  near  her.  She  begged  me  to  go  to  her 
ball.  You  know  the  consequences.  My  mother 
found  out  about  Higby's  being  there  and  determined 
upon  facing  him.  I  did  my  best  to  persuade  her  to 
give  up  the  idea,  but  she  was  resolute.  So  we  went. 
You  were  there,  and  you  know  whether  we  were  suc- 
cessful or  not  in  our  search  for  justice." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

228 


A  Retrospect  and  a  Forecast 

The  two  men  smoked  in  silence. 

"  Do  you  know  where  she  is  now  ?  "  Ernesto  asked 
finally. 

"  Why,  the  whole  Harlington  family  are  visiting 
Higby  up  here." 

"  Visiting  Higby — here  ?  "  cried  the  Mexican. 

"  Yee." 

"  Then — yes,  it  must  have  been  her  father  and 
Higby  that  I  heard  talking  to-day." 

Ernesto  then  told  Travis  about  hearing  the  voices 
in  the  afternoon,  and  it  naturally  occurred  to  him 
that  the  "  she "  referred  to  so  frequently  in  the 
course  of  the  conversation  was  Dorus.  The  next 
day  was  the  Sabbath  and  the  morn  dawned  clear  and 
bright.  Fragrant  was  the  breath  of  the  balsam, 
and  clear  and  beautiful  was  the  air.  While  the  birds 
were  yet  singing  their  matins,  Ernesto  sprang  down 
the  hotel  steps  and  made  for  the  little  rowboat  at  the 
landing.  He  felt  cheerier  than  he  had  for  two 
months  past,  for  he  had  parted  from  Travis  with  a 
hearty  handshake,  and  the  newspaper  man  had  prom- 
ised to  do  all  he  could  to  obtain  justice  for  him  from 
Higby. 

Out  over  the  blue  waters  Ernesto  went,  whistling 
gayly.     As  he  turned  a  woody  joint  that  jutted  out 

229 


The  Letter  H 


into  the  lake,  a  long,  low,  rambling  house  on  the  hill- 
top came  into  view. 

"  Hello,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that's  the  first  time 
I've  seen  you.    I'll  investigate. 

He  pulled  the  boat  in  towards  the  shore,  and  rowed 
cautiously  about  the  rocks  in  the  direction  of  the  little 
boathouse.  It  was  an  elaborate  structure,  though 
small,  he  noticed;  and  appeared  to  be  supplied  with 
several  kinds  of  boats.  A  little  launch,  canvas  cov- 
ered, floated  blithely  on  the  blue  waters. 

"  That's  a  mighty  pretty  little  affair,"  said  Ernesto 
admiringly. 

It  was  all  white,  and  as  his  boat  passed  it  closely, 
Ernesto  spelled  out  the  name  in  gilt  letters  on  the 
bow — "Dorus." 

The  tune  he  was  whistling  died  instantly  upon  his 
lips.  His  quick  glance  swept  over  the  broad,  fine 
house  again,  but  this  time  there  was  less  of  admira- 
tion in  it.  He  noted  again  its  spaciousness,  its  broad 
verandas,  its  appearance  of  being  kept  in  perfect 
order,  as  were  also  the  beautiful  grounds,  in  which 
stood  many  fine  old  trees.  His  gaze  rested  sadly 
upon  the  perfect  scene. 

"  My  house,"  he  said  aloud,  saluting  it  gravely, 
"  I  bid  you  a  very  good  day !    When  will  the  time 


A  Retrospect  and  a  Forecast 

come  that  I  shall  claim  you,  you  lovoly  house  ou  the 
hill." 

Ernesto  leaned  back  and  dreamed  again  of  the 
June-time.  Once  more,  as  he  had  done  a  thousand 
times,  he  thrilled  at  the  memory  of  the  dance  on 
the  smooth  floor  of  the  Harlington  ballroom.  He 
felt  the  tremor  of  the  slight  figure.  He  breathed 
again  the  faint  odor  of  violet — and  once  more  he 
heard — "  It  is  yours  for  the  asking." 

"  What  a  fool  I  am,"  he  cried  aloud,  and,  looking 
far  down  into  the  transparent  depths  of  the  lake,  he 
continued :  "  I  wonder  if  the  bottom  of  this  lake  is 
comfortable.  I've  half  a  mind  to  try  it.  By  Jove,  I 
would  if  it  weren't  for  the  little  mother." 


231 


CHAPTER  XXI 


OVER   THE   SUMMER   SEA 


The  sound  of  voices  behind  him  made  him  look 
back  in  the  direction  of  the  house.  A  young  man 
in  light  flannels  and  a  girl  all  in  white  were  discern- 
ible on  the  little  dock,  making  ready,  apparently,  to 
get  into  one  of  the  rowboats.  Ernesto  swung  about 
so  that  he  could  watch  them,  and  until  the  clump  of 
pines  on  the  little  peninsula  cut  them  off  from  view 
he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  them;  for  they  were 
Dorus  Harlington  and  Herman  Higby. 

The  brilliancy  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  the 
sunlight  as  the  man  in  the  boat  drifted  on.  "  Mine 
for  the  asking !  "  he  repeated  bitterly.  "  The  girl 
was  mad."  He  brought  his  jaws  together,  and  his 
face  looked  stern  and  resolute. 

Across  the  distance  between  them  came  the  sound 
of  merry  voices  and  gay,  half-smothered  laughter 
from  the  two  on  the  dock;  then  the  splash  of  oars  in 
the  quiet  lake,  and  Ernesto  knew  that  they  were  in 
the  boat. 

232 


"Over  the  Summer  Sea" 


Herman  surveyed  the  petite  figure  before  him 
soberly  and  attentively.  She  was  immaculate  in  her 
flannel  boating  costume.  It  hung  in  loosely-caught 
folds  about  her  form,  showing  the  softly-rounded 
curves.  She  wore  on  her  head  a  wide-brimmed  white 
hat,  with  a  dash  of  color  in  the  bright  Persian  ribbon 
about  the  crown. 

"  Is  it  in  the  code  that  I  must  not  say  when  you 
look  like  an  angel  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

"  Dear  me !  then  every  time  you  don't  say  it  I  am 
to  take  it  for  granted  that  I  don't  look  like  one,"  she 
laughed. 

They  were  in  the  boat  by  this  time. 

"  What  would  you  do  if  I  were  to  upset  the  boat  ?  " 
Herman  asked,  foolishly. 

"  Swim,"  was  the  prompt  answer.  "  It's  a  deal 
easier  to  get  out  of  a  little  thing  like  Lake  George 
than — lots  of  other  things." 

"  What,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.    I  leave  that  for  you  to  guess." 

"  Love  affairs  ?  "  he  suggested  slyly. 

"  Sentimental  Herman !  Do  you  find  it  so  difficult 
to  get  out  of  love  affairs  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  tried  to  get  out  of  the  only  one  I  ever 
got  into,  so  I  am  not  qualified  to  say.    But  you  don't 

233 


The  Letter  H 


seem  to  have  overmuch,  trouble  getting  out  of  them 
unscathed." 

"Don't  I?  That's  all  you  know  about  it."  She  was 
leaning  forward  now,  with  her  arms  resting  on  her 
knees. 

"  Oh,  Herman,  it  is  in  Florence  where  you  can 
most  easily  fall  in  love.  You  should  go  there,  Her- 
man," she  cried. 

"  I  would  if  you  were  there,"  he  ventured.  "  I've 
been  trying  to  find  a  place  which  you  might  think 
conducive  to  love  affairs." 

She  ignored  the  remark :  "  Listen,  Herman.  It 
was  in  Florence  that  I  first  met  Signor  Arturo." 

The  man  started  at  the  mention  of  the  name.  "  I 
had  hoped  that  you  had  forgotten  him,  Dorus,"  he 
said,  soberly. 

"  Dear  me,  no.  He  was  too  adorably  funny  to  for- 
get. He  saved  me,  you  know,  from  a  runaway.  I 
had  known  him  only  a  week,  but  that  night  when  he 
came  to  inquire  for  me,  he  insisted  that  I  promise  to 
marry  him.    Imagine !  " 

"  I  can't  blame  the  poor  fellow  for  wanting  to 
marry  you,  but  I'm  mighty  glad  you  wouldn't  have 
him." 

"  What  possible  difference  can  it  make  to  you  ?  " 
234 


"Over  the  Summer  Sea" 


"  Well,  as  matters  stand  at  present,  there's  still 
hope." 

She  leaned  back  laughing,  the  sun  playing  with 
the  dusk-dark  hair  beneath  the  broad  white  hat.  A 
laughing  answer  was  on  her  lips,  smiles  were  danc- 
ing in  her  eyes;  when  suddenly  from  somewhere  far 
over  the  lake  came  a  clear,  piercing  whistle,  repeating 
the  sweet,  sad  notes  of  the  "  Traumerei."  !Not  the 
plaintive  wail  of  the  violin,  just  the  sad,  sad  whistle ; 
softened,  yet  not  made  less  distinct,  by  the  distance. 
As  Dorus  grasped  the  sides  of  the  boat,  in  a  sudden 
tremor  of  wonder  and  amazement,  she  knew  that 
somewhere  up  there  in  the  beautiful  hill  country  was 
Ernesto  del  Tonjours. 


CHAPTER  XXII 


UNDER   THE   PINE   BALSAMS 


Lazily  the  little  ripples  broke  against  the  rocks, 
gurgling  musically;  the  blue  transparency  of  the  lake, 
stretching  on  and  on,  was  peaceful  in  the  haze  of  the 
afternoon;  swift-drifting  clouds, like  shadows  splashed 
across  the  sky,  came  and  passed  upon  the  broad  arch 
above.  In  a  blaze  of  yellow  and  crimson,  and  deep, 
deep  green,  the  mountainside  lay  flushed  with  the 
kisses  of  the  early  autumn.  Dreamily,  her  magazine 
fallen  forgotten  to  the  fragrant  carpet  of  dried  pine 
needles,  Dorus  reposed  in  the  hammock,  caressed  by 
the  red  glory  of  the  dying  sunset,  swift  dropping  be- 
yond the  color-flecked  mountains. 

Her  tumbled  dusk-dark  hair,  with  its  wayward 
curls,  sparkled  and  shone  in  the  warm  radiance — a 
thousand  little  bights  dancing  hither  and  yon.  Her 
face  was  burned  to  a  healthy  brown,  and  the  brisk 
breeze  had  brought  to  her  cheeks  a  brighter  flush. 
The  sweeping  shadows  of  her  lashes  lay  upon  her 
cheeks,  and  like  the  radiance  of  the  sunset,  came  the 

236 


Under  the  Pine  Balsams 


shy  smile  to  her  lips.  Of  many  things  and  yet  of 
nothing  was  she  dreaming,  as  one  dreams  on  the  days 
that  were  made  for  dreaming.  She  was  glad  that 
they  had  left  her  alone,  particularly  just  at  this 
time,  when  the  afternoon  was  waning  into  the 
evening. 

Naturally  her  thoughts  turned  to  Herman.  They 
seemed  to  be  with  Herman  the  greater  part  of  the 
time  these  days  at  Lake  George.  She  found  herself 
constantly  wondering  and  planning  how  best  to  keep 
out  of  his  way — how  to  avoid  him.  She  felt  sorry 
for  him — that  was  all,  just  a  despairing,  helpless 
pity.  He  was  so  strong,  so  well  built,  with  his  power- 
ful frame,  and  his  muscles  so  splendidly  developed 
by  the  college  athletics  that  there  was  not  an  ounce 
of  superfluous  flesh  upon  his  body.'  And  his  will — 
how  indomitable  it  was !  And  Herman  was  the  soul 
of  honor.  Dorus  realized  this  with  something  akin 
to  sadness,  for  she  knew  that  it  was  the  assurance 
that  he  regarded  her  most  careless  confidence  as  ab- 
solutely sacred  that  made  her  so  perfectly  at  homo 
with  him.  Yet  she  shunned  him  as  though  he  were 
some  kind  of  a  dishonest  and  dishonorable  bugbear. 
If  he  only  would  not  show  that  he  was  in  love  with 
her.     If  he  would  only  treat  her  with  the  careless 

287 


The  Letter  H 


unconcern  with  which  she  had  seen  him  address  other 
girls. 

But  no.  When  Herman  spoke  to  Doras  it  was 
with  the  greatest  deference.  He  never  heard  any 
one  else  when  she  was  talking,  and  in  a  thousand 
ways  he  showed  that,  while  his  promise  not  to  speak 
until  she  bade  him  kept  him  from  any  further 
declaration  of  his  love,  it  could  not  suppress  the  emo- 
tion itself. 

Unconsciously  Doras  looked  out  through  the  trees 
to  the  lake,  and  her  gaze  was  caught  and  held  by  a 
trim  little  St.  Lawrence  skiff,  with  a  dash  of  color 
in  the  stern,  as  it  came  dancing  over  the  water.  Many 
times  had  the  guests  from  the  Montignac  come  row- 
ing around  the  balsam  point  lying  below  Belle  Aire, 
and  Doras  had  grown  to  know  some  of  them  by 
sight.  She  wished  sometimes  that  her  father  and 
Lenore  would  take  her  over  to  the  hotel — away  from 
Colonel  Higby  and  his  son.  The  parties  of  hotel 
people  always  seemed  so  merry,  laughing  and  chat- 
ting, and  once  in  a  while  there  would  come  two,  just 
two,  and  there  would  be  less  laughing  and  chatting. 
Then  of  late  there  had  come  one  alone,  and  she  had 
grown  to  wait  for  him.  It  was  in  a  tiny  rowboat 
that  he  came,  and  if  it  chanced  that  she  was  not 

238 


Under  the  Pine  Balsams 


there,  in  the  shady  grove  of  balsam  trees,  she  would 
hear,  far  away,  the  dreamy  notes  of  an  old  Mexican 
song.  And  that  had  never  failed  to  attract  her,  like 
some  strong  human  magnet,  to  the  place  whence  the 
dream-notes  came. 

But  now  the  newcomers  were  near  at  hand.  The 
splash  of  color  in  the  stern  of  the  boat  had  developed 
into  a  shirt-waist.  It  was  a  pretty  shirt-waist,  and 
Dorus  noticed  with  appreciative  eyes  that  the  wearer 
was  also  pretty — exceedingly  pretty.  There  was 
another  patch  of  color — the  outing-shirt  of  the  man 
at  the  oars.  Over  the  still  calm  of  the  lake  came 
the  girl's  voice,  sweet  and  clear,  trilling  the  vibrant 
melody  of  a  popular  song : 

"  Driftin'  on  de  ribber  wif  ma  little  lady  bee, 
Waitin'  f  o'  de  answer  dat  it  ain't  so  hard  to  see," — 

The  girl's  hand  dragged  in  the  water  as  she  sang, 
and  gently  to  the  rhythmic  music  of  her  voice  the 
oars  splashed  in  the  blue — 

"  Ma  fairy  queen,  ma  little  lady  bee, 
Yo'  don'  need  speak,  cos  I  know  dat  yo'  loves  me" — 

Nearer  they  came  and  nearer  to  the  point  of  bal- 
sam trees  jutting  out  into  the  lake,  all  unconscious  of 

239 


The  Letter  H 


the  little  figure  lying  so  listlessly  in  the  hammock 
among  the  pines  which  were  to  work  her  cure — 

"  Won'  yo'  tak'  yo'  honey, 
Ef  I  am'  got  no  money, 
My  lady  bee." 

They  were  quite  close  now — so  close  that  Dorus 
could  discern  more  clearly  the  sweet,  young  face  of 
the  girl.  How  low  and  clear  her  voice  was !  Then 
Dorus  looked  at  the  man.  There  were  only  the 
broad  shoulders  and  the  finely-shaped  head  to  be 
made  out.    The  song  ceased  suddenly. 

"  What  a  lovely  place  for  a  hammock !  " 

The  man  pulled  the  boat  around  and  turned  to 
look.  With  a  little  cry,  Dorus  dropped  her  eyes  and 
turned  aside  so  that  they  might  not  recognize  her. 

It  was  Travis.  No,  he  must  not  see  her — not  here. 
With  a  half  shudder,  she  remembered  the  question 
he  had  asked  that  starry  night  on  the  Altruria  and 
the  anger  even  the  thought  of  Herman  and  that  old, 
old  contract  had  aroused  in  her. 

It  was  hard  for  the  girl  to  keep  herself  sufficiently 
screened  by  the  hammock  to  remain  unrecognized. 
The  two  in  the  boat,  unconscious  that  in  the  rare  at- 
mosphere their  softest  whisper  could  be  distinctly 
heard  by  the  occupant  of  the  hammock,  talked  on. 

240 


Under  the  Pine  Balsams 


"  What  a  pretty  place  for  a  pretty  girl !  "  was  the 
man's  first  exclamation.  "  I  wish  that  hammock  was 
empty." 

"  So  do  I — but  perhaps  it  would  be  trespassing 
to  land,"  answered  the  girl's  voice. 

"  Fine  house,  that,"  said  Travis,  resting  his  oars 
and  nodding  upward  to  where  Belle  Aire  stood,  crim- 
soned by  the  ruddy  light  of  the  sunset. 

"  That  is  Belle  Aire,"  Miss  MacDonald  answered, 
as  she  let  her  hand  trail  idly  in  the  water. 

"  Then  Miss  Harlington  must  be  up  here  some- 
where. I  wonder  if  she  is  the  occupant  of  the  ham- 
mock?" 

The  man  took  the  oars,  with  the  intention  of  row- 
ing closer  inshore.  But  Doras  rose,  shook  out  her 
gown,  and  started  rapidly  through  the  balsam  grove 
toward  the  house. 

"  I  believe  that  was  Miss  Harlington,  and  I  believe 
she  heard  us  talking,"  said  Travis,  contritely. 


241 


chapter  xxrn 


THE   LOVES   OF   KICHAED 


They  rowed  back  slowly  in  the  gathering  dusk.  It 
is  then,  when  the  red  light  of  the  late  sun  paints  the 
wonderland  of  nature,  when  the  blaze  and  the  splen- 
dor of  the  changing  foliage  throw  a  mystery  upon 
the  hills,  that  the  lake  is  at  its  loveliest.  It  is  then 
that  the  world  is  rose-hued,  indeed. 

Edith  MacDonald  leaned  back  in  the  stern  of  the 
boat  and  the  soft  rosiness  of  the  air  lay  upon  her  face 
like  a  caress.  little  fluffs  of  fair  brown  hair,  glinting 
in  the  light,  made  an  aureole  for  her  face.  Plump 
and  full  was  the  sweet,  grave  contour  of  cheek  and 
chin ;  and  as  Travis  looked  upon  her,  the  memory  of 
the  other  women  he  had  known  faded. 

"How  much  good  the  air  has  done  you,"  he  said 
at  last,  breaking  a  silence  that  was  full  of  unsaid 
things,  with  the  commonplace  remark. 

"  It  is  not  the  air  only,"  she  corrected. 

"  The  good  time  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Nor  the  good  time.  It  is  the  rest — just  the  beau- 
242 


The  Loves  of  Richard 


tiful  rest.  It  is  the  feeling  that  just  so  much  is  not 
required  of  one  to-day." 

"  Yet  you  chose  that "  Travis's  tone  was  half- 
inquiring. 

"  Yes — in  preference  to  letting  my  mother  and 
brother  provide  for  me."  The  girl's  lips  were  very 
firm  now. 

"  How  very  independent  we  are,"  he  said,  banter- 

ingly- 

She  smiled  across  at  him.  "  Yes,  we  are,"  she  said, 
with  decision. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  went  on,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  "  you  are  the  first  real  newspaper  girl  I  ever 
knew." 

"  No ! — really  ? "  she  queried.  "  Why,  you  must 
have  known  lots  of  them,  with  all  your  experience." 

"Oh,  of  course  I've  known  them,  but  not  like  this," 
he  said,  watching  her  face  as  he  pulled  long,  even 
strokes.  "  They've  always  been  very  quiet,  so  quiet 
you  couldn't  know  them;  or  very  noisy — so  noisy  you 
wouldn't  know  them.  And  they  haven't  been  real. 
I've  often  wondered  how  so  many  freaks  got  in  and 
why  some  nice,  good,  sane,  sensible  girl  wouldn't  try 
her  hand  at  it." 

"  Am  I  a  freak  ?  "  she  laughed. 
243 


The  Letter  H 


"  Oh,  no.  You're  the  nice,  good,  sane,  sensible 
girl  come  at  last." 

"  The  exception  that  proves  the  rule  ? "  she  per- 
sisted. 

"  I  ought  not  to  say  that  there  is  a  rule,"  said  the 
managing  editor.  "  I  don't  know  enough  about  your 
sisters  in  the  craft.  As  I  say,  I  haven't  known  them 
personally  at  all.  They've  done  their  work  satisfac- 
torily or  they  haven't  done  it  satisfactorily;  and 
that's  all  there  has  been  to  it,  as  far  as  I  know.  How 
have  you  found  them  ?  " 

A  shadow  crossed  the  girl's  face.  "  I  have  found 
some  who  were  not  quite  nice,  and  some  who  were 
very  bright  and  clever,  but  whom  I  wouldn't  care  to 
make  chums  of.  Then  I  think  some  of  the  bravest, 
noblest,  most  lovable  women  are — in  the  craft,  as 
you  put  it — honest  girls,  making  an  honest  living." 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  "  he  asked,  half -wistfully. 

"  I  love  it,"  she  answered  gravely.  "  It  has  been 
very  good  to  me,  this  newspaper  craft.  It  has  given 
me  a  chance  to  hear  and  see  all  the  things  I  have  so 
longed  for — it  has  given  me  the  chance  to  shake 
hands  with  people  I  used  to  dream  about.  They  are 
nice  to  me,  too — just  because  I  represent  the  "  Met- 
ropolitan," I  suppose,  but  still  they  are  nice  to  me, 

244 


The  Loves  of  Richard 


those  writers,  and  singers,  and  statesmen,  and  politi- 
cians.   And  I  love  to  write — I  love  it  all." 

"  Couldn't  you  be  persuaded  to  give  it  up  ?  There 
are  so  many  temptations — I  mean  trials — for  a  young 
girl.  Sometimes  I'm  half-afraid  they  will  drag  you 
down." 

If  Edith  felt  a  little  thrill  when  he  acknowledged 
that  he  sometimes  thought  about  her  and  that  he 
had  a  personal  interest  in  her  welfare,  she  did  not 
show  it. 

"  Temptations  ?  "  she  laughed  gayly.  "  Tell  me 
some.  They  told  me  I  would  be  surrounded  by 
temptations  and  sin — but  I've  been  with  the  "  Metro- 
politan "  now  for  several  months,  and  I  haven't  had 
a  single  temptation,  and  I  really  haven't  seen  much 
evil  at  all.    Tell  me  some  of  the  bad  things,  please." 

Travis  fixed  his  clear,  gray  eyes  gravely  upon  the 
girl.  What  he  saw  was  a  fresh,  eager,  innocent, 
pretty  face,  flushed  with  health  and  excitement. 

"  Tell  me  some  of  the  temptations,  please,"  she  re- 
peated. 

"  You're  a  temptation,"  he  answered,  laughing. 
"  You  could  easily  tempt  a  man  to  go  through — 
shades  of  Eros,  for  you,  you  know." 

"  A  boy,  I  might,"  she  returned,  flushing,  "  and 
245 


The  Letter  H 


he  would  do  it  solely  for  the  excitement  of  it.  A 
man " 

"  Would  do  it  for  you,"  he  finished. 

The  sun  had  dipped  down  now,  and  in  the  quickly- 
gathering  twilight  the  boat  moved  slowly  on  toward 
the  hotel.  A  silence  fell  upon  the  two,  and  as  they 
drifted  on  to  the  musical  sound  of  the  waves  lapping 
against  its  sides,  the  thoughts  of  both  were  busy, 
each  with  the  other.  The  man  was  dreaming  of  the 
girl — how  lovely  she  was,  yet  how  unnecessary 
seemed  any  plans  that  he  might  make  for  the  filling 
of  her  life.  The  girl  was  thinking  what  good  com- 
pany he  was,  and  how  much  she  enjoyed  hearing  his 
subtle  flatteries. 

Then  a  canoe  passed  them — so  swiftly,  so  noise- 
lessly, that  it  seemed  only  a  shadow.  A  solitary 
figure,  silhouetted  against  the  reflecting  lights  of  the 
lake,  turned  the  paddle  regularly,  monotonously, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  The 
bow  was  headed  straight  for  the  balsam  point  lying 
dark  below  the  twinkling  lights  of  Belle  Aire. 

"  S-sh "  murmured  Edith  MacDonald,  leaning 

forward  with  her  finger  placed  warningly  upon  her 
lips,  "  It  is  Ernesto." 


246 


CHAPTEE  XXIV 

INFINITE   PASSION   AND   FINITE   PAIN 

When  Ernesto  reached  the  balsam  point,  Doras, 
who  had  returned  and  was  lying  in  the  hammock,  sat 
up  erect  and  tense  the  moment  she  heard  the  sounds 
of  his  approach.  Her  gaze,  fastened  upon  him  as  he 
drew  near,  held  not  less  than  devotion.  She  rose 
slowly,  and  moved  towards  him  quietly  over  the  fra- 
grant, brown  carpet  of  pine  needles.  Her  dress  of 
dotted  muslin  fell  in  long,  graceful  folds  about  her 
slender  figure.  The  little  sleeves  that  stopped  at  the 
round  elbow  with  a  tiny  puff  of  gauzy  stuff  showed 
grace  in  every  curve.  Above  the  knot  of  cornflower 
chiffon  at  her  breast,  the  swelling  loveliness  of  its 
white  beauty  showed  through  the  thin  fabric.  Her 
hair  was  high,  as  it  had  been  when  Ernesto  saw  her 
first.  About  the  white  pillar  of  her  throat  was  a 
dainty  fichu,  half  revealing,  half  concealing  the 
round,  youthful  curves;  a  full,  short  curl  fell  on  one 
shoulder,  and  as  she  moved  the  old,  familiar  odor  of 
violet  clung  to  the  air.    It  was  incense  to  the  man. 

247 


The  Letter  H 


"  Ernesto,"  she  said,  very  gently,  coming  to  a 
standstill  before  him,  "  Ernesto,  I  have  gone  too  far 
now  ever  to  turn  back.  I  have  been  vague  and  un- 
decided— could  you  not  tell  what  those  strange  ac- 
tions meant  ?  Did  you  think  me  mad  ?  Sometimes  I 
am  half  afraid  that  I  am  mad.  Do  mad  people  ever 
think  that  they  are  mad?  Have  you  wondered,  Er- 
nesto, why  I  have  shown  you — that — I — have — loved 
you  ?   Was  it  unwomanly  ? 

"  Ernesto,  I  have  been  thinking  that  love  is  like 
some  great  tidal  wave  that  comes  up  out  of  the  ful- 
ness of  the  sea  and  sweeps  down  the  barriers  of  time, 
and  tide,  and  place,  and  circumstance.  The  tidal 
wave  levels  the  hills  to  the  valleys;  it  tears  down 
the  bulwarks  of  all  nature.  Nothing  can  stand 
against  it.  So  love  sweeps  upon  our  souls — over  all 
the  defences  that  custom,  and  education,  and  wealth 
have  built.  It  makes  us  all  equal — it  makes  us  all 
animals,  or  it  makes  us  all  divine. 

"Have  I  shown  you  in  my  actions  that  I  loved  you? 
Was  it  I,  Ernesto,  or  was  it  some  unseen  force,  as 
irresistible,  as  all-mighty,  as  all-powerful  as  a  tidal 
wave,  that  pushed  me  on?  Tell  me,  Ernesto,  what 
you  have  thought  of  me." 

The  man  crossed  his  arms  upon  his  breast.     His 


Infinite  Passion  and  Finite  Pain 

attitude  showed  his  intense  repressed  emotion,  his 
pulses  beat  wildly  as  he  looked  into  her  eyes.  Oh ! 
the  adorable  loveliness  of  that  dark,  brilliant  face; 
oh!  the  depth  of  the  gray,  gray  eyes,  with  the  sad- 
ness and  the  mystery  in  them.  The  fragrance  of  the 
violet  in  the  air  blended  with  that  of  the  pines,  and 
out  through  the  shadowy  gloom  the  lake  lay  crimson 
in  the  sunset  glow,  and  the  little  canoe  scraped  upon 
the  pebbles.  Long  he  looked  into  the  gray  eyes,  and 
the  steady  glow  of  his  own  baffled  the  girL 

"  I  have  not  dared  to  think,"  he  said. 

"  Has  it  seemed  more  strange  to  you  than  to  me, 
Ernesto?  Have  you  stood  aghast  at  my  actions — as 
I  have  done  ?  Have  you  wondered  with  horror,  per- 
haps, or  with  ecstasy,  as  I  have,  at  the  marvel  of  my 
love  for  you  ? 

"  Dearest,  from  the  time  that  I  was  a  little,  inno- 
cent baby  in  the  cradle,  from  the  time  of  my  earliest 
remembrance,  I  have  seen  one  face  and  form  con- 
stantly before  me — sometimes  near,  sometimes  far 
away.  He  has  played  with  me  in  the  days  gone  by 
— a  little  curly-haired  fellow  with  deep-set  eyes  and 
a  resolute  chin.  They  used  to  say  I  was  such  a  good 
child,  for  I  would  play  for  hours  all  by  myself.  They 
did  not  know  that  I  had  a  playfellow,  a  lad  who 

249 


The  Letter  H 


never  hurt  me,  who  loved  me  and  cared  for  me.  As 
I  grew  older,  they  called  me  queer — never  to  my 
face,  for  I  was  an  heiress,  you  know,  but,  neverthe- 
less, I  knew  they  called  me  so.  Then,  sometimes, 
my  playmate  would  go  away,  and  often  I  have  leaned 
my  head  against  the  window-sash  and  awaited  hia 
coming,  with  my  eyes  reddened  with  weeping — a 
sign  of  sorrow  I  could  not  explain  and  none  could 
understand.  They  used  to  say  it  was  because  my 
mother  was  dead. 

"  Since  I  have  become  a  woman,  I  have  longed  to 
meet  him  with  an  intensity  that  is  almost  unendur- 
able. To  meet  him  face  to  face,  to  touch  him,  to 
talk  with  him,  to  hear  him  say  he  loved  me — "  The 
low  voice  ceased,  almost  in  a  sob.  She  was  touch- 
ing him  now,  with  a  tense,  frightened  grasp.  His 
muscles  strained  and  his  lips  met  in  a  hard  effort  for 
self-control : 

"  He  would  be  ungrateful,  did  he  not  say  so." 
Again  the  sweet,  despairing  voice  went  on: 
"I  knew  that  our  destinies  were  inseparable.  I 
knew,  too,  that  some  day  he  and  I  would  come  face 
to  face.  Sleeping  or  waking,  those  dark  eyes  have 
looked  into  mine.  In  my  dreams,  I  have  lifted  the 
dark  curls  from  his  forehead  and  twined  them  about 

250 


Infinite  Passion  and  Finite  Pain 

my  fingers.  I  have  tried  to  speak  his  name,  but  it 
never  came  to  my  lips.  It  would  seem  as  though  I 
were  just  to  utter  it,  and  then  it  would  be  gone  be- 
fore my  memory  could  grasp  it.  And  so  this  phan- 
tom Something  has  lured  me  on — has  taken  posses- 
sion of  my  heart  and  soul.  It  enthralls  my  whole 
being.  It  is  part  of  myself.  I  love  it  better  than 
I  do  my  life." 

The  girl's  grasp  tightened  upon  his  arm.  She 
forced  him  to  look  at  her : 

"  Ernesto,  do  you  think,  if  I  were  to  meet  him,  to 
find  him  a  mortal  being  like  myself,  that  it  would  be 
wrong  to  tell  him  of  my  love — my  life-long  love  for 
him?" 

Once  more  Ernesto  spoke,  slowly: 

"  No,  no." 

"  Listen,  Ernesto.  Only  two  months  ago,  when 
we  came  back  from  Europe,  as  we  were  hurrying 
from  the  cab  to  the  station,  I  brushed  against  a 
passer-by.  I  looked  up,  straight  into  his  eyes — the 
dark  eyes  that  I  had  loved.  And  he  knew  ma 
There  shot  back,  in  that  one  instant's  recognition, 
the  thrill  of  eternity.  A  week  later,  as  I  sat  in  my 
father's  house  at  Newford,  I  heard  the  melody  of 
the  '  Traumerei ' — the  melody  that  filled  me  with 

251 


The  Letter  H 


its  passion  and  its  pain.  '  Infinite  passion  and  the 
pain  of  finite  hearts  that  yearn.'  Could  Browning 
have  known  what  it  was  as  I  do?  Then  I  saw  my 
dream  hero  standing  before  me  in  human  form,  look- 
ing into  my  eyes  as  he  had  looked  thousands  of  times 
before." 

Ernesto  straightened  himself  once  more.  It  was 
his  own  condemnation  that  he  was  speaking: 

"  Did  he — did  he  know  you  ?  " 

Low  and  clear  the  voice  answered :  "  No.  He  saw 
my  heart  speaking  through  my  eyes,  but  there  was 
no  answering  look  in  his.  He  saw  the  struggle  ra- 
ging in  my  breast,  but  there  was  no  response  from 
him.  He  was  calm,  cold,  respectful.  I  called  my 
pride  to  my  aid.  I  tried  to  forget  him.  I  tried,  oh, 
how  hard !  to  tear  his  dear  image  from  my  heart,  but 
I  cannot  struggle  any  longer." 

Her  head  drooped  in  exhaustion.  Ernesto  watched 
her  narrowly. 

"  He  would  perhaps  love  you — if  he  knew."  He 
had  spoken  thus  to  hear  her  say  again,  "  I  love  you," 
— this  lovely,  beautiful  creature. 

She  looked  up  at  him  suddenly,  her  face  ablaze 
with  the  glory  of  her  love : 

"  Oh,  Ernesto,  if  I  had  found  him  rich,  high-born, 
252 


Infinite  Passion  and  Finite  Pain 

of  great  reputation,  I  could  have  loved  him  no  more, 
but  I  could  have  loved  him  more  hopefully.  I  still 
love  him — blindly — madly — hopelessly,  the  world 
would  say,  for  he  is  only  a  poor,  wandering  violinist 
— but  he  is  my  fate.  Oh,  Ernesto,  Ernesto,  com- 
fort me !  " 

Sobs  shook  her  slender  frame.  The  man  was 
calmer  now.  He  knew  that  somehow  he  must  get 
away.  He  felt  instinctively  that  his  strength  of  pur- 
pose could  not  last  much  longer.  Oh,  to  take  her 
in  his  arms,  to  comfort  her  indeed ! 

"  What  can  I  say,"  he  asked,  trying  to  be  calm. 
"  What  would  comfort  you  ?  " 

"  Say  that  you  pity  me — that  you  love  me." 

"  I  dare  not  say  that.  I  am  a  penniless,  nameless, 
wandering  outcast,  it  is  true;  but  I  could  not  do 
that.     It — it  would  be  dishonorable." 

"  Dishonorable  ?  "  the  girl's  voice  was  frightened. 
"  Is  it  dishonorable  to  love  me  ?  " 

"  For  one  like  me  to  presume  so  far  would  be  very 
— dishonorable.  I  have  not  even  a  name  to  give  you. 
I  should  deserve  all  the  contempt  which  your  father 
would  heap  upon  me." 

Dorus  turned  away  from  him  sadly.  "  You  do 
not  love  me,"  she  said  helplessly. 

253 


The  Letter  H 


Upon  the  man's  face  there  came  a  flicker  of  yield- 
ing.    His  resolution  almost  gave  way. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  offer  you  but  poverty — and — 
disgrace,  in  exchange  for  all  your  trust,  and  your 
beauty,  and  your  fortune.  The  world  would  call 
you  foolish,  at  the  least,  and  me — a  worthless 
scamp." 

There  was  a  gleam  of  hope  in  Dorus's  eyes. 

"  I  have  a  fortune  in  my  own  right,"  she  said, 
"  and  yet  it  will  not  secure  for  me  that  single  bit  of 
happiness  that  I  crave — have  craved  for  years.  It 
would  make  a  thousand  say  they  loved  me — yet  it 
will  not  give  me  the  one  I  love  best  in  the  whole 
■wide  world.  If  you  could  but  love  me,  Ernesto," 
she  went  on,  wistfully,  "  I  should  care  nothing  for 
the  rest." 

"But  your  father?" 

"  My  mother  was  an  heiress,  Ernesto.  She  mar- 
ried for  love  a  brave  man,  who  was  but  a  poor  one 
then.  I  have  the  same  right.  Ernesto,  when  a 
thing  is  right,  all  arguments  against  it  must  be 
wrong.  For  your  sake,  Ernesto — for  my  sake — tell 
me  that — that  you  care." 

The  Mexican  drew  himself  up  sharply.  If  he 
listened  much  longer  to  the  pleading,  plaintive 
Southern  voice  he  must  give  way. 

254 


Infinite  Passion  and  Finite  Pain 

"  No,  no !  "  he  cried.  "  For  your  sake,  Dorus,  I 
must  leave  you.  I  would  rather  die  than  bring 
misery  upon  you — and  to  say  that  I  loved  you  would 
surely  bring  it." 

Ernesto  unfolded  his  arms  and  taking  her  two 
little  hands  in  his,  pushed  her  gently  from  him.  A 
sound  of  far-away  laughter  came  floating  towards 
them.  Through  an  opening  in  the  grove  he  caught 
sight  of  the  little  launch  "  Dorus  "  moored  to  the 
tiny  wharf,  and  a  party  of  people  coming  ashore.  He 
knew  that  they  must  come  this  way  through  the 
grove  to  get  to  the  house.  He  pressed  the  soft 
hands  gently. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  whispered. 

But  the  girl  was  aroused.  She  paid  no  attention 
to  the  distant  voices.  She  felt  that  Ernesto  was 
going — forever,  perhaps. 

"  You  must  not  go ! "  she  cried  passionately. 
"  You  shall  not  leave  me.  I  cannot  live  on  without 
you.  Oh,  Ernesto,  have  you  no  pity?  Can  you 
go  so  calmly,  after  all  the  years  I  have  waited  for 
you?     You  must  love  me,  I  say." 

Gently,  he  pushed  her  away  from  him.  The 
voices  were  very  near  now.  They  must  not  find 
ier  clinging  to  him. 

255 


The  Letter  H 


"  Go,  dearest,"  he  said  softly,  and  again  he  pushed 
her  from  him.  Her  foot  slipped  upon  the  pine 
needles  and  she  fell  to  the  ground.  Ernesto,  for- 
getful of  the  coming  witnesses,  sprang  to  her  side. 
He  lifted  her  tenderly  in  his  arms. 

"  Dearest,  are  you  hurt  ?  "  he  whispered. 

It  was  upon  this  tableau  that  General  Harlington, 
Lenore,  Colonel  Higby  and  Herman  gazed.  With 
cries  of  horror  the  General  and  Lenore,  who  were  in 
advance,  sprang  towards  the  pair.  The  girl's  face 
was  ashen.  Upon  her  cheeks  the  dark  lashes  lay 
like  lovely  shadows.  She  seemed  stunned,  and  lay 
almost  as  though  dead. 

Higby  turned  with  fury  upon  the  Mexican.  For 
an  instant  he  did  not  recognize  him.  The  picture 
of  the  handsome  fellow  at  the  ball  had  almost  faded 
from  his  mind,  and  he  did  not  dream  of  finding  him 
here  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  Ernesto  stood 
back,  his  face  drawn  and  his  arms  folded  upon  his 
breast. 

"  You  villain,"  cried  the  Colonel,  "  to  attack  a 
woman  in  open  daylight  and  in  very  sight  of  her 
own  home!  Are  you  crazy — or  drunk?  "What 
woman's  safe  with  such  a  brute  as  you  at  liberty  ? " 
He    grasped   the    Mexican's    arm    and    shook   him. 

256 


Infinite  Passion  and  Finite  Pain 

"  What  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself  ?  Did  you 
mean  to  rob  her  ?  " 

Ernesto  looked  down  upon  him  calmly.  "  I  did 
not  attack  her  nor  molest  her  in  any  way,"  he  said 
quietly. 

"  You  lie !  "  cried  the  Colonel  fiercely,  striking  the 
musician. 

Ernesto's  face  flamed  crimson  at  the  insult.  His 
hot  Southern  blood  rushed  to  his  eyes  and  his  lips. 
With  an  Herculean  effort,  he  calmed  himself.  His 
breath  came  in  heavy  gasps,  but  he  kept  his  arms 
folded.  Near  to  him  stood  Herman.  His  face,  too, 
was  flushed  with  passion,  and  the  hard,  steely  light 
in  his  eyes  was  flashing. 

"  You  will  hear  more  when  the  ladies  have  gone," 
he  said  quietly.  "  The  law  fails  to  reach  such  cow- 
ards as  you." 

Ernesto  turned  to  the  younger  man.  He  was  calm 
now — calm  with  the  anger  that  is  the  stronger  for 
its  control. 

"  Mr.  Herman  ESgby,"  he  said,  "  do  not  touch 
I  me  if  you  value  your  life.  I  would  not  submit  to  a 
blow  from  you." 

Doras,  meantime,  had  recovered  from  the  shock 
and  had  arisen.     She  heard  the  Colonel  bid  Lenore 

267 


The  Letter  H 


take  her  to  the  house,  and  add  that  he  would  see 
that  the  fellow  got  his  deserts.  With  a  quick  cry, 
she  broke  from  Lenore  and  fairly  flew  to  Ernesto, 
laying  her  hands  upon  his  arm  as  she  had  done 
before. 

"  You  will  not  harm  him,"  she  cried  piteously  to 
her  father.  "  It  was  not  he — it  was  I !  It  was  I, 
Dorus  Harlington.  I  urged  him  to  meet  me  here. 
I — I  threw  my  arms  about  him  and  begged  him  to 
love  me  as  I — loved  him.  He  would  not  have  me — 
said  it  would  be  dishonorable  for  him  to  love  me.  I 
clung  to  him — he  pushed  me  away — I  slipped  and 
fell." 

She  turned  for  corroboration  to  the  man.  In  his 
face  was  a  smouldering  fire,  and  neither  by  look  nor 
word  did  he  respond  to  the  interrogation  which  her 
looks  implied. 

"  And  you  could  refuse  my  love  for  him  ?  "  asked 
Herman. 

"  I  did  not  make  my  heart,  Herman,"  she  said 
gently.     "  God  made  it." 

The  General,  looking  years  older  than  he  had 
done  an  hour  before,  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  Poor 
little  girl,"  he  said  brokenly,  "  this  is  more  terrible 
far  than  even  your  death  could  have  been." 

258 


Infinite  Passion  and  Finite  Pain 

"  Horace,  the  girl  is  mad — mad,"  the  Colonel 
broke  in  testily.  "  Why  do  you  stand  here  and 
listen  to  her  ravings?  Take  her  to  the  house  and 
send  for  a  doctor.  Burslem  is  at  the  hotel,  with  his 
nephew.     Call  him  over." 

Lenore  went  to  her  and  took  her  hand  gently  in 
her  own.  "  Come,  Doras,"  she  said,  "  let  us  go 
back  to  the  house." 

Into  the  girl's  clear  eyes  came  a  baffled,  hunted 
look.  She  seemed  utterly  unnerved.  She  still 
clung  to  Ernesto,  who  stood  like  a  statue. 

"  I  will  not  leave  him  here  with  these  men.  They 
will  kill  him,"  she  cried. 

"  Come,  dear,"  insisted  Lenore,  "  come  with  me." 

"  I  will  not  go,"  she  cried  again.  "  They  shall 
not  kill  him." 

Colonel  Higby  moved  towards  her,  and  she  shrank 
closer  to  Ernesto,  who  put  out  his  arm  as  though  to 
protect  her,  and  said  quietly : 

"  If  you  will  permit  me  to  speak  to  her,  I  think 
she  will  go  in." 

Higby's  temper  flared  up  anew.  "  What  do  you 
mean  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  What  I  say,"  said  the  Mexican,  with  repressed 
emotion.  "  I  think,  perhaps,  I  can  induce  the  young 
lady  to  go  into  the  house." 

909 


The  Letter  H 


"  There  is  witchcraft  here,"  growled  the  Colonel. 
"  Speak  to  her  then — but,  remember,  every  word 
you  utter  will  be  used  against  you  in  a  court  of  law." 

Ernesto  looked  down  upon  the  girl,  in  his  eyes 
ineffable  tenderness.  There  was  ecstasy  in  her  ex- 
pression as  she  met  his  glance. 

"  Dorus,"  he  said,  "  Dorus,  you  must  go  into  the 
house  with  your  friends."  It  was  as  though  he  were 
talking  to  some  lovely,  wayward  child. 

"  Why,  Ernesto  ? "  she  questioned  softly. 

"  Because  I  love  you,  cLear." 


900 


CHAPTER   XXV 


THB    LETTEB   H 


The  low,  faint  whisper  brought  the  glory  of  love 
triumphant  to  the  sweet  face  of  Dorus.  With  a 
little  cry  of  joy  she  put  her  hand  timidly  upon  Er- 
nesto's shoulder.  Into  her  eyes  there  sprang  the 
suffused  radiance  of  perfect  peace.  Not  so  with  the 
Mexican.  His  lesson  said,  the  swift  tenderness  of  the 
gesture,  the  ecstasy  of  her  touch  passed,  he  was  like  a 
pillar  of  marble — so  calm,  so  proud,  so  cold.  The  low 
words  of  pity  for  her  fell  unheeded  on  his  ears.  It  was 
as  though  all  was  but  a  dream.  The  voices  of  the 
people  about,  the  swaying  branches,  the  ripples  break- 
ing upon  the  pebbles,  the  scraping  of  the  boat,  all  were 
unreal.  Only  the  faint  fragrance  of  violet  mingled 
with  the  scent  of  the  balsam;  only  that,  and  the  sweet, 
radiant  face  of  the  girl  in  his  arms  seemed  real.  He 
wondered  vaguely  if  she  were  dead,  and  he,  too — if 
they  would  wake  up  presently  and  feel,  as  before, 
the  great  gulf  between  them.  For  a  second,  he  felt 
the  throbbing  of  the  girl's  heart,  then  again  he  heard 

261 


The  Letter  H 


the  voices  of  her  friends.  He  roused  himself;  the 
dream  must  cease. 

"  Now,  Dorus,"  he  said,  stroking  the  little  fluff 
of  hair  upon  her  temples,  "  go  in  with  your  father. 
I  will  see  you  again  soon." 

Dorus  was  absolutely  unconscious  of  the  people 
about.  She  straightened  herself  and  pushed  the 
man  to  arm's  length  from  her: 

"  You  said  you  loved  me,  Ernesto,  and  I  won't 
go.  They  might  lock  me  up;  they  might  send  you 
away — kill  you,  dear,  and  I  might  never  see  you 
again.  No,  Ernesto,  I  won't  leave  you."  She 
shook  her  head  teasingly:  "No,  no;  don't  ask  me 
to." 

Suddenly  she  turned  to  the  others.  "  Do  you — 
do  you  think  I  should  leave  him,  when  it  has  taken 
a  whole  lifetime  for  me  to  find  him?  Go  away,  all 
of  you,  and  leave  me  alone  with  Ernesto." 

With  an  almost  heart-broken  sob,  Herman  turned 
away: 

"  This  is  too  much ;  I  love  her  better  than  life — " 
To  Herman  it  seemed  as  though  this  was  the  blasting 
of  all  his  hopes.  He  was  torn,  too,  by  doubts  of  his 
father.  One  of  the  two — either  Colonel  Henry  Higby 
or  the  Mexican — was  playing  a  treacherous  part.  One 

262 


The  Letter  H 


was  a  scoundrel — which  was  it  ?  In  the  cry  of  his  soul 
to  vindicate  his  father,  he  turned  to  the  violinist 
angrily,  as  though  to  strike  him. 

Ernesto  watched  him  calmly.  "  Stand  back,  Her- 
man Higby,"  he  said  coldly.  "  Ask  your  father  why 
I  do  not  wish  to  quarrel  with  you." 

Colonel  Higby  looked  nervously  at  the  speaker — 
a  cold,  close  scrutiny.  With  a  smothered  oath,  he 
stepped  backward  as  though  struck.  The  man  was 
indeed  the  Mexican — Ernesto  del  Tonjours.  Har- 
lington,  too,  in  one  swift  glance  of  recognition,  saw 
no  less  unmistakably  that  it  was  the  same  stranger 
whom  he  had  last  seen  beneath  his  own  roof.  In- 
stinctively, he  looked  from  Higby  to  Ernesto.  As 
the  first  moonlight  broke  through  the  trees,  it  fell 
slantingly  upon  Ernesto's  head  and  shoulders.  The 
same  ray,  by  some  strange  freak  of  nature,  fell  full 
upon  Henry  Higby.  Both  men  were  turned  full  face 
towards  the  General.  The  likeness  was  unmistak- 
able ;  there  were  the  same  features,  the  same  erect 
carriage,  the  same  look  in  each.  As  in  that  other 
place — in  the  arbor,  on  the  night  of  the  Harlington 
ball — when  the  mother  and  son  had  stood  side  by 
side,  Harlington  had  said,  "  There  is  no  question 
that  he  is  her  son,  he  has  her  features,  her  expres- 

263 


The  Letter  H 


sion,"  bo  now,  as  the  tricky  moonlight  shone  upon 
these  two,  he  saw  even  a  more  striking  resemblance. 
With  the  conviction  growing  within  him  that,  after 
all,  Higby  had  lied — worse  than  lied — he  turned 
away.     Taking  Lenore's  arm,  he  said  sharply : 

"  Come  away;  leave  them  alone." 

The  crunching  of  their  footsteps  upon  the  dry 
twigs  marked  their  going,  and  Higby  and  his  son 
followed  slowly.  The  moon's  rays  had  shown  to  the 
son  what  it  had  shown  to  the  old  soldier. 

As  they  went — Colonel  Higby  unconscious  that, 
at  last,  retribution  was  very  near,  and  Herman  with 
his  head  bowed  in  broken  pride — Doras  rattled  on: 

"  You  wouldn't  hurt  me,  would  you,  Ernesto  ? 
You  love  me — you  said  so.  See!  I  can  defend 
myself.     Here  is  my  mother's  dagger." 

To  Ernesto's  horror,  she  pulled  from  somewhere 
within  the  folds  of  her  gown  a  quaint,  Oriental  dag- 
ger, sharp  and  gleaming.  It  was  a  tiny  toy,  bright 
and  beautiful,  and  she  had  been  using  it  for  a  paper- 
knife.  She  touched  it  to  her  fingers,  to  her  lips,  the 
jewels  in  the  handle  sparkling  between  her  white 
fingers.  "  It  was  my  mother's,"  she  said.  "  Is  it 
not  a  pretty  thing  ? " 

She  looked  up  into  the  man's  face — sad  and  drawn. 


The  Letter  H 


Something  she  saw  there  made  her  forget  the  knife. 

"  Ernesto,"  she  cried,  with  all  her  feeling  in  her 
voice,  "  you  can  never  know  how  happy  I  was  to 
hear  you  say,  so  bravely,  so  proudly,  before  them 
all,  that  you  loved  ma  Will  you  ever  be  sorry  that 
you  said  it  ?  " 

"  Only  for  your  sake.  You  will  always  be  sorry 
tihat  I  said  it,  I  fear." 

"  Stop,  Ernesto,"  aha  cried,  putting  her  finger 
upon  his  lips.  "  I  will  not  hear  you  speak  so  meanly 
of  yourself.  I  could  be  happy  with  no  one  else. 
Kiss  me,  Ernesto?" 

She  stood  before  him,  tantalizing  and  betwitching 
in  her  sweet,  innocent  appeal.  The  man's  face  grew 
red,  then  white.     He  drew  back,  almost  haughtily. 

"  Won't  you  ? "  she  pleaded  wistfully,  and  im- 
pelled by  a  force  he  could  not  resist,  Ernesto  pressed 
his  lips  upon  her  forehead. 

For  a  moment  she  was  still,  then  she  lifted  her 
red,  full  lips  to  him.  *  Kiss  me !  "  This  time  it 
was  command,  not  entreaty.  In  a  second,  he  had 
put  his  arm  around  her,  and  their  lips  met.  He 
felt  the  quiver  of  her  body;  he  felt  the  warm  flush 
on  her  cheek.  After  the  first  ecstasy  of  it — the  pity 
of  it — the  hopelessness  of  it  swept  upon  the  man's 
soul. 

MB 


The  Letter  H 


"  Ernesto,"  she  said,  "  I  am  so  happy;  yet,  you 
are  not,  that  I  can  see.  There  is  no  joy  in  your  face ; 
I  fear  there  is  none  in  your  heart." 

'  If  I  were  only  worthy  of  you !  "  he  said  wearily, 
"  This  must  be  a  dream  of  happiness  from  which 
we  shall  soon  awake." 

"  It  was  a  dream,"  she  acquiesced  smilingly ;  "  a 
dream  of  life.  Now  it  is  a  reality.  Now  that  I  have 
found  the  hero  of  my  dreams,  I  have  only  one  fear." 

"And  what  is  it?"  he  asked  apprehensively. 

"  That  I  may  be  jealous  of  my  hero,"  she  laughed. 

"  Dorus,"  he  said,  "  we  have  both  forgotten  our 
duty;  yours  to  your  father,  mine  to  my  mother. 
Remember  what  she  is — a  woman  with  two  passions; 
her  love  for  me,  and  her  hatred  of  the  man  who 
deserted  her.  Remember  what  I  am — a  nameless 
outcast." 

"  You  are  my  Ernesto,"  she  cried ;  "  so  what  else 
matters  ?  " 

"  Dorus,  a  heart  of  steel  could  not  withstand  such 
trusting  love  as  yours.  But  I  have  sworn  before 
Heaven  and  my  mother  that  I  would  never  falter  in 
my  search  for — that  I  would  never  forsake  her  until 
my  father,  if  living,  makes  restitution  to  her  for  the 
past." 


The  Letter  H 


"  We  will  keep  your  promise  to  your  mother,  to- 
gether— you  and  I,  Ernesto.  My  money  will  help 
us.  I  have  all  my  mother's  money — I  never  saw 
my  mother,"  she  added  wistfully.  "  She  died  when 
I  was  a  little  child.  But  I  have  her  picture  and 
many  other  things,  and  I  love  them  because  they 
were  here.  Here  is  one,  this  little  knife."  Once 
more  Doras  held  up  the  pretty  trinket.  "  Aunt 
Lenore  says  it  is  a  family  heirloom.  See  the  angel's 
head  carved  upon  the  handle,  Ernesto  ?  This  is  my 
talisman  against  evil." 

"  It  is  very  beautiful,  Doras.     Is  it  sharp  ? " 

"  Very.  I  will  show  you.  Oh,  yes,  Ernesto,  I'll 
tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  cut  off  one  of  your  curb, 
and  I  will  keep  it  as  long  as  I  live.  May  I,  Er- 
nesto ? " 

"  Yes,  Dorus,  if  you  wish,"  he  said  gently,  bend- 
ing his  head. 

Ernesto  was  so  tall  that  he  towered  way  above 
her.  The  dark,  clustering  curls  upon  his  forehead 
were  one  of  his  distinguishing  marks.  It  was  this 
cluster  of  curls  that  Dorus  touched  with  her  delicate 
hands.  And  he  felt  almost  overpowered  by  the 
charm  of  her  loveliness  as  she  twined  her  fingers 
about  those  precious  locks,  preparing  to  cut  them. 

267 


The  Letter  H 


But,  as  she  lifted  the  locks  of  curly  hair  from  his 
forehead,  it  disclosed  his  mark  of  shame — The  Let- 
ter H! — a  blood-red  scar  upon  the  flesh.  The 
Letter  H!  As  the  girl  looked  at  it,  6tartled  and 
bewildered,  the  lovelight  in  her  eyes  gave  way  to 
a  look  of  horror — of  horror  intensified-  All  the 
terror  in  her  soul  sought  utterance.  The  cry  that 
left  her  lips  was  a  piercing,  frightened  scream. 
Still  she  clung  to  the  curls,  her  eyes  never  moving 
from  the  blood-red  mark.     The  Letter  H! 

With  another  shrill  cry,  she  drove  the  polished 
steel  into  the  Mexican's  breast — not  once,  but  twice, 
thrice.  As  he  fell  backward,  Dorus,  the  weapon 
clasped  in  her  hand,  dropped  forward,  prone  upon 
hie  body,  the  blood  from  his  wounds  dyeing  the  light 
gown  she  wore  and  staining  her  little  white  hands. 

"  Ernesto,  Ernesto,"  she  shrieked,  "  I  have  killed 
you !  I  have  killed  you !  "  Crashing  through  tha 
grove  came  General  Harlington,  with  Higby  and 
Herman  close  behind  him.  Following  them  were 
Lenore,  Luke  and  Saida. 

Meantime  the  hotel  launch,  bringing  Dr.  Burslem 
and  Carmelita,  was  making  straight  for  the  landing. 

"  He  has  killed  her,"  cried  Colonel  Higby  excit- 
edly.    His  infernal  work  is  done  at  last."     It  was 

868 


The  Letter  H 


the  General,  bending  over  his  daughter,  who  dis- 
covered that  she  was  unharmed,  even  while  the 
physician  and  Cftrmelita,  hastening  towards  the 
group,  saw  that  it  was  Ernesto  who  was  wounded. 

"  My  poor  boy !  My  poor  boy  1  "  cried  the  mother 
brokenly,  as  she  knelt  by  the  prostrate  figure.  Then 
she  turned  fiercely  on  Higby.  "  His  blood  be  upon 
your  hands,  Henry  Higby,"  she  continued,  in  a 
frenzy  of  grief.  "  He  stood  in  your  way.  The  girl 
loved  him — and  you  have  murdered  your  own  son. 
Do  not  deny  it.  Look  upon  this  brand — The  Letter 
H!     I  have  never  forgotten  it,  nor  shall  you." 

She  bent  over  the  boy  again,  as  Dr.  Burslem  was 
trying  to  stanch  the  flow  of  blood. 

In  the  woman's  anathema,  one  phrase  had  aroused 
the  girl  from  her  stupor.  "  The  Letter  H !  "  she 
cried.  "  Yes,  I  saw  it — saw  it  beneath  his  curly 
hair,  on  his  white  forehead.  Poor  Ernesto,  they 
shall  not  take  you  from  me " 


269 


CHAPTEK   XXVI 


!  » 


"  IT   IS   ALL   MINE  I 

Long,  dreary  hours  for  the  watchers;  long,  bliss- 
ful intervals  of  unconsciousness  for  the  sick  ones. 
They  thought  once  that  there  would  be  two  graves 
beneath  the  balsam  trees  before  the  last  of  the  red- 
gold  leaves  had  dropped  from  the  thinning  boughs 
of  the  mountain  maples.  The  last  vestige  of  sum- 
mer waned  and  faded.  The  Montignac,  crowded  all 
the  season,  first  closed  one  wing,  and  then  the  other. 
The  haze  of  August  gave  place  to  the  mellowness  of 
September;  then  came  the  crisp  air  of  October. 

Still  the  inmates  of  Belle  Aire  gave  no  sign  of 
leaving.  The  physician  and  the  nurses  still  lin- 
gered. They  went  on  tiptoe  through  the  wide  hall- 
ways and  spoke  in  whispers  when  they  gathered 
about  the  roaring,  open  fires. 

They  were  dull  weeks,  those  dreary  weeks  when 
Bonis  lay  near  to  death;  when,  in  another  room,  it 
seemed  that  Ernesto,  too,  must  pass  into  the  dark 
valley. 

270 


"It  Is  All  Miner' 


Then  came  the  days  of  convalescence.  The 
strange  mania  that  had  warped  the  brain  of  Dorus 
Ilarlington  seemed  gone — utterly.  Dr.  Burslem, 
with  loving  care,  made  tests  innumerable.  The 
phantom  love,  which  had  played  havoc  with  her  life, 
had  vanished — forever,  the  Doctor  said.  In  the 
languor  of  her  weak  condition,  she  was  all  patience, 
sweetness  and  gentleness.  She  liked  to  lie  for  hours 
in  the  sunny  bay-window  of  her  room  and  look  out 
over  the  blue  lake.  She  watched  the  birds  as  they 
flew  south,  and  she  listened  quietly  when  Lenore 
read  to  her  from  her  favorite  books. 

For  weeks  they  feared  to  mention  Ernesto's  name 
to  her — feared  that  it  might  bring  back  all  the  hor- 
rible delusion.  Then  there  came  a  day  when  she 
asked  softly :  "  Where  is  Ernesto  ?  "  And  Lenore 
had  answered :  "  He  is  quite  safe,  Dorus." 

The  girl  looked  out  over  the  lake  again,  and  sighed 
happily.  "  I  can  get  well  now,"  she  said.  "  I  was 
afraid  that  I  had  killed  him." 

A  few  days  later  she  spoke  of  him  again.  "  Where 
have  they  taken  him  ?  "  she  asked.  Lenore  wondered 
what  the  truth  might  disclose.  "  He  is  over  in  the 
east  wing,  Dorus."  "  Here  ?  "  The  girl  turned 
anxiously.     "  Yes,  Dorus.     He,  too,  has  been  very 

271 


The  Letter  H 


ill."     "But  he  is  better  now \"     "Oh,  yea.     He 

is  to  go  out  very  soon." 

Meanwhile,  in  the  east  wing,  there  had  been 
anxious  hours,  too.  Carmelita,  paler  and  thinner 
than  before,  watched  tirelessly  oyer  her  boy.  The 
doctor  and  the  nurse  came  and  went  regularly.  In 
the  night,  when  the  nurse  took  her  place  beside  the 
bed,  Carmelita  would  slip  into  the  little  room  ad- 
joining, and  throw  herself  upon  the  cot  for  needed 
rest. 

It  was  at  these  times,  when  the  boy  and  the  nurse 
were  alone,  that  Henry  Higby  would  steal  softly 
down  the  corridor  and  in  at  the  open  door.  Then 
he  would  stand  silently  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and 
watch  the  still  form  upon  the  pillows. 

It  was  when  the  young  man's  life  was  first  de- 
spaired of  that  the  Colonel  had  found  his  way  into 
the  quiet  chamber.  Once  he  had  entered,  to  see 
Carmelita  kneeling  by  the  foot  of  the  bed,  her  face 
hidden  in  her  hands.  The  hard,  cold  man  had  re- 
treated, with  bowed  head,  and  something  like  a  sob 
upon  his  lips. 

But  at  last,  after  weary,  weary  weeks  of  waiting 
and  of  watching,  the  tide  had  turned,  and  with  the 
beginning  of  October  all  danger  for  both  had  passed. 

273 


"It  Is  All  Mine/" 


The  nurses  finally  departed,  and  although  Dr.  Bur- 
slem  remained,  it  was  as  a  guest  rather  than  in  his 
eapacity  as  a  physician. 

Dorus  was  still  confined  to  hear  room.  As  a  mat- 
te* of  fact,  both  her  aunt  and  her  father  feared 
the  inevitable  meeting  with  Ernesto,  and  put  off  the 
dreaded  moment  as  long  as  possible.  He  was  im- 
proving day  by  day,  and  was  able  to  be  about  the 
spacious  mansion  long  before  Dorus  left  her  cham- 
ber. He,  too,  dreaded  the  meeting  with  Dorus,  and 
hoped  that  he  would  be  able  to  go  away  before  she 
was  downstairs.  While  the  charm  of  her  beauty  and 
her  adorable,  lovable  ways  had  forced  admiration 
from  him,  he  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  it  was 
never  love  that  he  had  given  her.  He  knew  that 
it  could  not  have  been  real  love  that  she  had  given 
him.  He  realized  that  from  the  moment  he  saw 
the  love-light  die  out  of  her  eyes  and  the  horror  and 
the  terror  come  into  them  as  she  looked  at  the  brand 
upon  hi3  forehead — the  almost  fatal  Letter  H. 

From  that  moment  on  it  had  all  been  as  a  dream. 
He  remembered  the  glittering  trinket  that  she  had 
shown  him — he  remembered  the  flash  of  it  in  the 
streak  of  moonlight  that  fell  upon  them  through  the 
intertwined  branches  above  their  heads.      And  he 

278 


The  Letter  H 


remembered,  too,  the  transfiguration  of  the  girl's  face 
as  she  touched  his  hair — the  awful  change.  He  had 
felt  a  queer,  cold  sensation  in  his  breast  and  shoul- 
der, and  that  was  all  he  could  recall.  Until  he  woke 
up,  very  faint  and  weak,  in  the  pretty  little  room 
in  the  east  wing,  with  his  mother  bending  anxiously 
over  him,  his  memory  was  a  blank.  Little  by  little, 
however,  as  he  grew  stronger,  he  managed  to  piece 
the  whole  story  together.  The  one  thing  which  had 
puzzled  him  was  the  reason  for  the  very  evident 
kindness  of  their  host  towards  both  his  mother  and 
himself.  Every  want,  every  wish  of  theirs  had  been 
gratified. 

To  his  astonishment,  on  his  first  appearance  down- 
stairs, he  found  himself  most  courteously  received 
by  his  host  and  the  other  guests.  They  made  quite 
a  little  fuss  over  him — insisted  upon  his  taking  the 
biggest  and  most  comfortable  chair,  in  the  warmest 
corner  of  the  library.  And  they  had  not  to  try  very 
hard  to  get  him  to  talk  of  his  journeys  with  his 
mother  across  the  sea  in  far-away  lands. 

He  had  dreaded  this  first  meeting  with  them,  even 
though  Lenore  had  promised  to  pilot  him  downstairs, 
and  not  to  desert  him  in  his  first  reintroduction  to 
society.     He  had  grown  great  friends  with  Lenore, 

274 


It  Is  All  MineT' 


since  one  day  early  in  his  convalescence  when  he 
had  opened  his  eyes  to  see  her  standing  beside  his 
bedside,  with  her  arms  full  of  autumn  flowers  and 
in  her  hand  some  delicate  fruit  to  tempt  his  appetite. 
She  laid  the  fruit  upon  the  table  and  put  the  flowers 
in  a  vase.  Then  she  had  come  close  beside  him, 
placed  her  hand  caressingly  upon  his  forehead  and 
said  cordially: 

"  We  are  all  glad  you  are  getting  along  so  nicely." 

He  had  wondered  what  her  motive  might  be,  and 
had  answered  with  a  touch  of  bitterness : 

"  I  couldn't  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  make  Dorus  an 
unintentional  murderer." 

Lenore  shuddered,  and  Ernesto  was  sorry  he  had 
spoken.  She  came  every  day  after  that,  and  when 
Oarmelita  could  leave  him  alone  she  insisted  upon 
taking  the  little  Mexican  lady  down  to  dinner  with 
her. 

Poor  Carmelita!  Those  were  hard  days  for  her. 
She  had  determined,  in  the  silence  of  the  night- 
time, when  Ernesto's  life  hung  by  a  thread,  that  she 
would  take,  at  last,  whatever  Fate  had  in  store  for 
her,  and  that  as  long  as  she  lived  she  would  make 
no  more  demands.  But  the  first  dinner  in  the  big 
dining-hall  made  the  fury  in  her  rise  once  more. 

275 


The  Letter  H 


"  Oh,  Ernesto,"  she  cried  piteously,  when  she 
reached  the  privacy  of  his  room  again,  "  oh,  Ernesto ! 
The  injustice  of  it  all!  The  dreadful,  dreadful  in- 
justice !  It  is  my  house,  it  is  all  mine — this  lovely 
mansion,  with  its  silver  and  its  gold.  They  are  my 
servants,  for  me  to  direct.  They  are  my  guests, 
these  people,  and  I  should  be  mistress  here." 

"  Carina  mia !  "  said  the  low  voice  from  the  bed, 
"  don't  think  about  it  at  all.  Soon  I  shall  be  well, 
and  we  will  go  away  together." 

"  Oh,  but,  my  dearest,"  she  cried,  burying  her 
face  in  the  pillows  beside  him,  "  I  don't  want  to  go 
away.  I  want  to  stay  here,  in  this  beautiful  home. 
I  want  him  to  love  me  again  in  the  old,  old  way.  I 
want  to  be  proud  of  my  name  and  my  position,  as  I 
was  when  Carmelita  Lucello — the  handsomest  girl 
and  the  daughter  of  the  richest  man  in  Guadalaxara. 


276 


CHAPTER    XXVn 


A   TALE   HALF   TOLD 


Lenore  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  Carmelita  and 
Ernesto — much  more  than  Colonel  Higby  quite  ap- 
proved of,  or,  indeed,  than  even  General  Harling- 
ton  entirely  sanctioned.  But  whether  it  was  the 
magic  of  the  autumn  upon  them,  or  only  the  old, 
time-worn  law  of  propinquity,  a  change  was  gradu- 
ally coming  over  the  household. 

The  beautiful,  half-Spanish  woman,  with  the  lines 
of  her  face  softened  and  refined  by  infinite  pain, 
walked  often  among  the  balsam  trees,  and  those  at 
the  house  grew  to  watch  her.  How  sad  she  seemed ! 
Little  by  little,  the  General  grew  to  see  in  her  less 
of  the  adventuress  and  more  and  more  of  the  brave 
womanliness  that  makes  women  fight  for  their  af- 
fection and  their  children.  Lenore  walked  with  her 
frequently,  and  in  the  house  they  were  often  to- 
gether. Day  by  day  the  intimacy  grew.  Day  by 
day  Lenore  learned  to  see  a  little  farther  beneath 
the  curtain  of  reserve  that  the  Mexican  kept  so 

277 


The  Letter  H 


securely  over  her  life.  Gradually  the  depth  of  love 
for  the  boy  lying  up  in  the  east  wing  unfolded  itself 
to  Miss  Clifton.  But  not  once  did  the  name  of 
Colonel  Higby  pass  Carmelita's  lips !  Lenore  was 
puzzled.  Was  Madame  del  Tonjours  thinking  better 
of  her  former  passionate  denunciation  of  the  man, 
and  now  trying  to  shield  him? 

At  any  rate,  Lenore  had  grown  to  have  a  most 
sincere  regard  for  Carmelita.  For  the  boy  upstairs, 
her  first  feeling  of  mere  endurance  gave  place  rap- 
idly to  an  affection  that  grew  stronger  constantly. 

But  the  problem  remained.  Carmelita  studiously 
avoided  Higby;  Higby  assiduously  avoided  Carme- 
lita. Dining  at  the  same  table,  living  under  the 
same  roof,  it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  keep  it 
up;  but  from  the  time  of  Carmelita's  first  appear- 
ance in  their  midst  no  word  had  passed  between 
them.  Lenore  often  caught  the  Colonel  watching 
Madame  del  Tonjours.  With  head  bent,  he  would 
listen  to  the  general  conversation,  his  mind  appar- 
ently intent  upon  what  was  being  said,  but  Lenore 
knew  that  his  thoughts  were  far  away  from  the 
pleasant  table-talk. 

Lenore  found  him,  again  and  again,  at  the  library 
window,  watching  Carmelita  as  she  started  out  for 

278 


A   Tale  Half  Told 


her  daily  walk.  It  amused  her  to  note  the  inten- 
sity of  his  gaze,  and  to  note,  too,  that  he  watched 
restlessly  for  her  return.  He  would  often  stand 
silently  in  the  doorway,  his  eyes  upon  the  graceful 
outline  of  her  figure. 

"  Henry,"  said  the  General  one  day,  "  I  believe 
you  are  growing  morose.  Are  we  wearing  out  our 
welcome  ? " 

"  Heavens,  no,  Horace.  I  wish  I  might  keep  you 
all,  forever." 

The  unwonted  solemnity  of  the  Colonel's  tone 
struck  the  General.  "  I— I  should  hardly  blame 
you  for  wanting  to  keep  one  member  of  the  party," 
he  said  tentatively. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  then  the  Colonel  sighed 
and  relighted  his  cigar.  "  Horace,"  he  began,  "  can 
you  imagine  a  life  in  which  there  has  been  no  love 
— no  real,  tangible  love  ? " 

The  General  was  silent  a  moment.  "  Hardly," 
he  said  at  last. 

"  Then  you  won't  know  how  to  pity  me." 

Harlington  turned  to  his  friend  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise.  "  Without  love  ?  "  he  questioned. 
"  But  you  married " 

"  Yes,  I  married.  Ida  Delmaine  was  a  pure, 
279 


The  Letter  H 


lovely  woman,  as  free  from  guile  as  an  angel.  We 
passed  four  years  of  content — just  content — and 
then  she  died,  and  I  missed  her — that  was  all.  As 
good,  and  true,  and  pure  a  woman  as  she  was,  Hor- 
ace, I  never  loved  her." 

"  I — I  don't  understand,  Henry/' 

"  Of  course  not,  Horace,"  said  the  Colonel,  half 
bitterly.  "  I  hardly  expected  that  you  would.  The 
truth  is,  Horace,  I  never  loved  but  one  woman  in  my 
life — and  she  was  not  Ida  Delmaine.  The  woman 
I  loved  was  beautiful,  but  she  would  not  have  pleased 
my  father.  If  I  had  taken  her  home,  she  would 
have  thrown  our  set  into  convulsions.  I  wish  to 
Heaven  that  I  had  been  true  to  her,  and  to  myself 
— and  let  my  father — and  the  money — and  the  set 
— all  go  to  the  devil,"  he  finished  fiercely. 

"  And  she — she  has  gone  entirely  out  of  your 
life?" 

"  She  went  out  of  my  life,"  corrected  Higby. 

Just  then  there  came  the  swish  of  a  woman's  gown 
in  the  hall,  and  Carmelita,  humming  the  air  of  an 
old-time  love  song,  passed  the  door  of  the  library. 


280 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 


A   LOVE   WON AND   LOST 


"  Are  you  blind,  Horace  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  Lenore.  What  makes  you  ask  such 
a   question  ?     Are   my   eyes — er — dull  ?  " 

"  Not  from  this  side,"  cried  Lenore  laughing,  and 
looking  deep  into  the  clear,  cool  blue  of  the  Gen- 
eral's eyes.  "  Dear  knows  how  they  look  from  your 
side — if  you  can't  see  our  problems  all  working  out 
of  themselves." 

"  But  they  are  not  Lenore.  They  are  still  as  un- 
solvable  as  they  were  eight  weeks  ago." 

"  Only  eight  weeks  ? "  questioned  Lenore  seri- 
ously, dropping  her  half -playful  tone. 

"  Why,  yes.  It  was  just  eight  weeks  ago  to-day 
that — it  happened." 

"  Yes,  Horace — the  climax.  But  what  about  the 
problem  that  has  baffled  us  for  eighteen  years  ? " 

"  That  question  is  unanswerable,  Lenore." 

They  were  sitting  in  the  gloaming,  beside  the  wide 
hearth.     The  steady  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  of  sturdy 

281 


The  Letter  H 


masculine  feet  sounded  from  the  veranda,  and  the 
figures  of  Ernesto  and  Colonel  Higby  passed  and  re- 
passed the  window.  From  the  music-room  came  the 
notes  of  a  piano. 

"  But  is  it  unanswerable  ? "  persisted  Lenore. 
"  Ever  since  that  day,  eighteen  years  ago,  when  I 
took  the  little  motherless  babe  in  my  arms,  I  have 
felt  that  there  was  a  mystery,  a  curse  upon  her, 
which  must  some  day  be  explained,  which  must  some 
day  be — what  shall  I  say? — exorcised.  I  think  that 
time  has  come." 

Lenore  arose  in  agitation.  She  was  still  a  young 
woman,  but  she  affected  styles  suitable  for  settled 
matrons.  Her  hair,  though  still  unstreaked  with 
gray,  was  drawn  back  loosely  and  fastened  simply  in 
a  heavy,  shining  knot.  She  was  gowned  in  black, 
and  wore  a  little  white  linen  collar  and  cuffs. 

The  General  watched  her,  and  the  fear  that  per- 
haps she  might  leave  them  soon  and  go  back  to  her 
home  in  New  Orleans  began  to  trouble  him  again. 
It  had  worried  him  a  great  deal  lately,  especially 
since  the  leaves  had  turned  red-gold  and  the  splendor 
of  the  autumn  had  come  into  the  air. 

"  But  can  it  be  explained,  Lenore  ?  Hasn't  Bur- 
slem  done  his  best  for  us?     Haven't  we  all  gone 

282 


A  Love  Won — and  Lost 


nearly  crazy  trying  to  explain  it?  Now  that  Dorus 
is  well  again,  and  seems  at  last  to  be  in  a  normal 
condition,  why  need  we  think  about  causes  any  more, 
dear?" 

The  word  was  out.  Lenore's  face  grew  red  as 
a  peony,  and  the  General  coughed  abstractedly.  He 
had  never  called  her  "  dear  "  before.  They  had 
been  like  brother  and  sister  in  the  years  that  had 
come  and  gone  since  the  first  Dorus  Harlington  had 
left  her  motherless  babe  to  the  care  of  her  twin 
sister.  They  had  been  brother  and  sister,  but  that 
was  all.  All,  until  the  fear  had  crept  into  the  Gen- 
eral's heart  that  perhaps  Lenore  would  decide  to 
go  back  to  New  Orleans.  He  had  not  realized,  until 
that  little  word  of  endearment  had  tripped  so  un- 
consciously over  his  lips,  just  how  much  he  cared 
for  her. 

While  he  was  still  debating  on  the  wisdom  of  fol- 
lowing up  the  little  word  with  ones  that  were  longer 
and  meant  more,  Dr.  Burslem  entered  the  library. 
He  did  not  at  first  see  the  General  in  the  big  chair, 
and  stood  watching  Lenore.  She  seemed  very  fair 
to  Gerald  Burslem. 

"  Miss — Clifton,"  he  began,  embarrassed,  "  I — I 
should  like  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

283 


The  Letter  H 


"  Perhaps  I  had  better  go,"  said  the  General,  sud- 
denly coming  up  from  the  depths  of  the  chair. 

"  I  beg  jour  pardon,  General,"  cried  the  Doctor, 
excitedly  pulling  his  handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket, 
"  I  hope  I  have  not  intruded." 

"  Not  at  all,"  asserted  the  General,  moving  to- 
wards the  door. 

"  I  wish  you  would  stay,"  begged  the  Doctor.  "  It 
was — it  is  about  our  patients  that  I  wished  to  see 
Miss  Clifton." 

"  Oh !  "  there  was  relief  in  Harlington's  tone. 

"  They  are  really  both  getting  on  famously," 
Burslem  continued,  trying  to  remember  what  it  wai 
he  had  to  say  about  the  patients.  "  Er — Ernesto 
says  that  he  wants  to  leave  to-morrow,  or  at  least  as 
soon  as  possible.  I  have  said  that  he  was  able  to 
go,  but  I  have  not  yet  seen  the  master  of  the  house 
— Colonel  Higby.  The  boy  wishes  to  go  without 
seeing  Dorus,  and  she  is  to  come  down  in  a  day  or 
two." 

"  Yes,  he  must  go.  Dorus  must  not  see  him — 
though,  the  Lord  knows,  he's  a  better  man  than  we 
ever  thought,"  said  the  General. 

Dr.  Burslem  turned,  his  eyes  flashing  beneath 
their  heavy  brows: 

284 


A  Love  Won — and  Lost 


"  Doras  must  see  Ernesto  again  if  we  wish  to 
learn  the  truth  about  this  hallucination  of  hers — 
and  I'm  going  to  have  a  good,  plain  talk  with  the 
boy's  mother,  if  I  can  find  her  and  make  her  talk. 
It's  the  strangest  case  I  ever  had,  but  I'm  making 
every  step  sure.     I  know  I'm  on  the  right  track." 

Burslem  walked  nervously  back  and  forth. 

The  General,  too,  had  arisen,  and  Lenore  stood 
quite  still  by  the  old-fashioned  fireplace. 

"  Well,  Doctor,"  said  the  General,  after  a  pause, 
"  what  is  your  idea  ?  " 

Burslem  came  to  a  stand-still  before  them : 

"  General,  to  speak  plainly,  your  wife's  mind  gave 
way  under  the  terrible  strain  of  an  unjust  suspicion 
of  you.  She  hated  that  child — Ernesto — and  would 
have  killed  him,  had  it  been  in  her  power  to  do  so. 
Then  Doras  was  born.  Your  wife  died  in  a  delir- 
ium, cursing  the  Mexican.  Her  faith  in  you  was 
dead.  And  your  little  girl,  General,  has  been  the 
victim  of  those  circumstances.  She  has  borne  upon 
her  life  the  marks  of  that  sad  mania  of  her  mother's 
— she  inherited  her  mother's  own  emotions,  her 
mother's  feelings." 

"  But  Doras  apparently  loved  the  man  who,  when 
a  child,  my  sister  hated  so  bitterly."  Lenore's  voice 
was  eager.  285 


TJie  Letter  H 


"  That  is  according  to  the  law  of  opposites,  which 
is  very  well  established  in  mental  cases,"  the  Doctor 
went  on.  "  The  parent's  delusion  will  often  be  ex- 
actly reversed  in  the  child.  What  is  strange  is  the 
sudden  change  in  Dorus  when  she  saw  the  mark — 
the  brand  which  your  poor  wife,  Horace,  thought 
conclusive  proof  of  your  guilt." 

The  General,  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  was  lis- 
tening intently.  "  How  do  you  explain  that  change, 
Doctor?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"  I  can't,  and  I'm  honest  enough  not  to  invent  an 
explanation.  I  only  see  the  fact  and  acknowledge 
it.  Delusions — inherited  influences  especially — are 
different  from  everything  else  under  the  sun.  In 
measles  or  scarlet  fever  you  know  what  to  expect, 
but  in  cases  like  this  we  can  never  anticipate  any- 
thing— we  can  only  watch  and  wait." 

"  Yet,  Doctor,"  interrupted  Lenore,  "  in  making 
a  diagnosis,  one's  intuition  would  help." 

Only  women  have  reliable  intuition,"  said  Bur- 
slem,  smiling.  "  Now,  if  you  were  a  physician,  I  sup- 
pose your  intuition  would  help  you  to  give  the  rea- 
son why  Dorus  tried  to  kill  the  man  she  loved." 

"  I  would  hazard  an  explanation  even  now,"  she 
cried  eagerly.     "  I  think  Dorus  has  been  under  a 

286 


A  Love  Won — and  Lost 


spell,  a  curse,  whatever  you  may  call  it,  from  her 
birth,  and  that  this  led  her  towards  the  other  child, 
and  yet  she  knew  not  why." 

"  Allowed — but  the  explanation  ?  " 

"  You  remember  that  it  was  not  until  she  looked 
upon  The  Letter  H,  as  her  mother  did  eighteen  years 
ago,  that  the  spell  of  revulsion  came  over  her.  You 
know  that  you  have  explained  to  us  that  Dorus's 
love  for  Ernesto  was  but  following  the  well-authen- 
ticated theory  of  such  inherited  ideas — the  child 
taking  exactly  the  opposite  course  to  the  parent. 
Where  Dorus's  mother  hated,  the  daughter  loved, 
until  she  saw  the  fatal  Letter  H,  then,  with  the  same 
knife  that  her  mother  used  to  stab  the  pillow,  think- 
ing that  it  was  the  child,  Dorus  stabbed  Ernesto — 
for  the  instant  she  was  not  Dorus  the  child,  but 
Dorus  the  mother." 

Both  the  General  and  the  physician  stood  think- 
ing a  moment  after  Lenore  had  finished  speaking. 
Then  Burslem  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room 
again. 

"  Very  ingenious,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  you  are 
right.  I  am  a  firm  believer  in  psychological  influ- 
ences. Perhaps,  who  knows  but  such  influences 
might  extend  over  eighteen  years,  or  a  lifetime  even. 

287 


The  Letter  H 


Thank  you,  Miss  Clifton,"  he  continued.  Although 
I  am  such  an  old  practitioner,  I  must  confess  that 
a  case  like  this  is  so  very  irregular  that  it  entirely 
baffles  all  science."  With  this  he  bowed  to  them 
both,  as  though  considering  the  conference  at  an 
end,  and  left  them  alone  again. 

The  silence  remained  unbroken.  From  a  distant 
apartment  came  the  tones  of  the  piano  and  a  low, 
sweet  voice  singing  an  old  Mexican  love  song.  In 
the  gathering  dusk,  the  General  stepped  close  to  the 
still,  dark  figure  by  the  fireside.  The  flickering 
embers,  with  a  sudden  start,  flared  up,  and  Harling- 
ton  saw  the  sweet  face  of  Lenore  bathed  in  the  fire- 
light. 

"  Lenore,"  he  said,  "  our  long  vigil  is  almost 
over." 

"  Yes,  Horace,"  she  answered  thoughtfully,  "  and 
I  think,  when  Dorus  is  quite  strong  and  well  again, 
that  I  shall  go  back  to  Louisiana.  You  have  no 
use  for  me — now." 

"  Lenore !  Lenore !  "  The  General's  breath  came 
quickly.  "  You  will  not  leave  us.  You  cannot, 
Lenore.  How  could  Dorus  do  without  you — how 
could  I,  Lenore  ?  " 

In  a  sudden,  fierce  wave,  the  love  of  her  came 


A  Love  Won — and  Lost 


over  him.  In  a  single  moment — a  wild,  sweet,  de- 
lirious moment — he  realized  what  for  years  had  been 
growing  up  in  his  heart  Oh,  the  wiles  of  a  good 
woman.  Why  had  she  waited  until  just  then  to  say 
she  was  going  home  to  Louisiana.  With  a  strength 
tempered  by  tenderness,  he  took  her  hands  and  held 
them  closely  in  his  own. 

"  You  can't  go  now,  Lenore,"  he  cried  trium- 
phantly. "  I  have  locked  you  up  in  the  temple  of  my 
heart — you  can't  get  away  now,  Lenore — for  I  love 
you.  You  won't  try  to  go  now,  will  you,  dear  ? " 
Again  the  little,  little  word  of  endearment. 

Lenore  looked  up  mischievously: 

"  I  couldn't  put  you  to  the  trouble  of  unfastening 
all  the  locks,  could  I  ? " 

Out  on  the  veranda,  Higby  was  getting  acquainted 
with  Ernesto.  Little  by  little,  in  the  days  that  had 
elapsed  since  the  fateful  moment  in  the  pine  grove, 
Higby  had  learned  to  know  the  youth.  The  older 
man  had  always  been  a  judge  of  human  nature — too 
often  he  had  used  his  knowledge  to  the  undoing  of 
his  victims  and  to  his  own  advantage.  He  knew 
men  like  a  book.  But  this  boy,  with  his  strong,  reso- 
lute face  and  his  inner  soul  full  of  music,  presented 

289 


The  Letter  H 


something  which  was  most  attractive.  The  charm 
of  his  mother  was  there — perhaps  that  explained  the 
interest.  At  any  rate,  in  the  company  of  Ernesto 
Higby  had  found  a  solace  for  the  absence  of 
Herman. 

For,  this  time,  there  was  to  be  no  forgiveness  for 
Higby  from  his  younger  son.  Herman  might  doubt 
the  protestations  of  others,  but  the  evidences  of  his 
own  senses  were  irrefutable.  While  the  thought  that 
at  Belle  Aire  Dorus  lay  hovering  between  life  and 
death,  and  that  he  was  powerless  to  help  her,  was 
maddening,  still  he  made  no  effort  to  stay  beneath 
his  father's  roof.  He  took  rooms  in  the  Montignac, 
and  day  by  day  waited  with  anxious  forebodings  for 
the  report  of  the  physician.  As  the  days  passed  and 
there  came  no  word  of  improvement  from  the  sick 
chambers,  a  change  came  over  him.  Herman  was 
not  religious,  but  one  night  he  found  himself  upon 
his  knees  praying  that  Dorus  might  be  spared — and 
Ernesto,  too,  for  her  sake. 

It  was  then  that  Herman  renounced  Dorus.  In 
that  supreme  moment  of  denial  of  his  dearest  hopes 
and  plans,  Herman  crowned  himself.  For  even 
while  his  heart  was  aching  he  decided,  with  true 
nobleness,  that  he  would  never  rest  until  Ernesto 

290 


A  Love  Won — and  Lost 


had  been  installed,  if  not  beside  him  as  Higby's  son, 
then — in  his  place.  It  is  probable  that  if  Dorus's 
illness  had  not  carried  her  so  near  to  death's  door, 
Herman's  wrath  would  have  remained  unquenched 
against  the  musician  who  had  called  forth  the  girl's 
love.  But  now  Herman  had  no  wish  but  that  her 
heart's  desire  should  be  given  to  her.  If  Ernesto 
del  Tonjours — if  Ernesto  Higby  could  make  her 
happy,  then  it  should  be  his,  and  not  Herman's  task. 
And  this  love-task  he  undertook  with  a  heart  that 
was  almost  breaking.  He  wondered  what  he  was  to 
do.  All  his  life,  Dorus  had  been  a  part  of  his  plans. 
Even  as  a  young  boy  in  the  years  before  the  won- 
derful love  of  her  had  dawned  upon  him,  he  had 
looked  upon  her  as  a  necessary  part  of  his  life's 
equipment.  That  it  had  been  part  of  a  bargain  made 
by  his  father  and  her's  mattered  not  to  him  one  iota. 
It  was  only  the  pulsing,  throbbing,  trembling  love 
that  had  blossomed  in  all  its  beauty  since  he  had 
come  to  know  her  after  her  home-coming  that  mat- 
tered now.  And  how  much  it  all  meant  to  him! 
It  had  seemed  so  easy  to  win  her  love — at  first.  He 
had  not  thought  that  there  would  be  another.  Some- 
how, he  had  not  ever  considered  anyone  else  in  his 
plans.     If  it  had  been  anyone  but  Ernesto!     Yet 

291 


The  Letter  H 


it  was  Ernesto,  and  he  could  not  alter  the  picture 
that  had  been  painted  by  the  hand  of  Fate.  He 
loved  her,  but  her  heart  was  Ernesto's,  not  his. 
There  was  no  other  way.  His  soul  seemed  shut  up 
with  the  pain  of  it,  yet,  with  brave  eyes  and  a  sym- 
pathy that  included  the  whole  wide  world,  he  turned 
to  a  future  in  which  there  was  no  gray-eyed  girl 
with  dust-brown  hair. 


CHAPTEK   XXIX 

THE   LAST  OP  THE   BED-GOLD   LEAVES 

Pale  shades  of  evening  splashed  across  the  sky — 
red-gold  and  crimson-amber  flooding  the  west  like 
a  sunset  echo,  and  reflected  its  glory  in  the  lake, 
which  shone  like  a  precious  jewel  in  the  clear  trans- 
parency of  the  autumn  air. 

On  the  veranda  of  the  Montignac,  deserted  now 
but  for  a  little  group  of  health-seekers,  Herman 
Higby  paced  restlessly  back  and  forth.  He  was 
unconscious  of  the  splendor  of  the  evening,  uncon- 
scious of  the  lake,  more  beautiful  in  the  chaste  air 
of  the  fall  than  ever  it  was  in  the  sultry  summer, 
unconscious  of  the  little  group  at  the  end  of  the 
porch,  deep  in  the  recital  of  their  respective  troubles. 

Ever  and  anon  his  eyes  would  turn  to  the  south- 
ward. Through  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees  the 
highest  gables  of  Belle  Aire,  hidden  when  the  foliage 
was  thick,  could  be  plainly  seen. 

"  Shall  I  go,  or  not  ? "  he  thought,  studying  the 
sky-line. 


The  Letter  H 


He  expected  to  leave  the  place  on  the  morrow, 
and  the  question  in  his  mind  was  whether  or  not  to 
see  Dorus  before  he  went.  He  knew  himself  well 
enough  to  realize  that  if  he  should  see  her  again 
his  renunciation  of  her  would  be  doubly  hard  to  bear. 
He  knew,  too,  that  simple  friendship  with  her  was 
impossible.  The  break  now  must  be  final.  To  be 
near  her,  to  see  her,  was  to  love  her — for  Herman. 

Yet,  to  go  from  her  into  this  voluntary  exile 
seemed  more  than  Herman  could  bear.  He  had 
hoped  so  much  in  those  dear,  dear  days  when  they 
had  been  so  gay  and  foolish.  He  remembered  the 
day  of  the  ball  at  home  in  the  great  Harlington 
mansion,  and  conjured  up  the  memory  of  her  as  she 
had  knelt  before  the  wide  fireplace,  with  the  red 
roses  in  her  arms.  She  had  been  so  utterly  ador- 
able  

Then  the  early  days  at  the  lake,  after  her  first  ill- 
ness. To  be  sure,  there  had  been  many  a  sharp  bit 
of  repartee  between  them  in  those  days,  and  many 
a  time  Herman  had  been  cut  to  the  quick.  But  one 
does  not  remember  those  things  of  one's  beloved. 
Time  mercifully  paints  out  the  brambles  and  thorns 
with  neutral  tints — it  leaves  the  roses,  the  violets 
and  the  lilies. 

294 


The  Last  of  the  Red-Gold  Leaves 

Should  he  go,  or  should  he  not? 

Remorselessly  his  memory  went  back  over  their 
childhood.  He  thought  of  Dorus  as  she  had  been 
when  she  wore  that  dusk-dark  hair  in  braids,  and 
when  the  sad  eyes  were  laughter-loving,  and  the  fair 
face,  which  now  had  an  indefinable  mystery  upon  it 
that  made  it  Madonna-like,  was  browned  by  the  sun. 
He  caught  his  breath  with  the  memory  of  the  hand- 
clasp that  had  brought  no  thrill  in  those  days. 

Should  he  go  back  to  the  little  girl  with  the  two 
pigtails  and  the  brown  face? 

Once  more  a  picture  rose  in  his  memory.  He 
saw  her  as  she  stood  so  proudly  by  the  Mexican,  her 
face  suffused  with  love,  her  soul  in  the  gaze  she  fixed 
upon  him. 

Should  he  go? 

The  little  girl  with  the  pigtails  was  only  a  fancy. 
Yet  he  knew  that  the  hand-clasp,  which  in  those  days 
held  no  joy  for  him,  would  make  him  supremely 
happy — to-night. 

Meantime,  beyond  the  curving  shore  of  the  lake, 
comfortably  ensconced  in  a  broad  bay-window,  where 
the  last  rays  of  the  westerning  sun  lingered  cheerily, 
Dorus  lay  back  in  her  steamer-chair.  She,  too,  was 
dreaming,  and  her  thoughts  turned  as  often  as  her 

295 


The  Letter  H 


eyes  towards  the  northward,  where  stood  the  Mon- 
tignac. 

Would  Herman  come? 

She  had  been  down  two  days  now,  and  had  been 
waiting  for  the  step  which  as  yet  had  not  sounded. 
Her  eyes  rested  upon  the  low  hill  that  cut  off  the 
view  of  the  Montignac.  They  had  told  her  that 
Herman  was  over  there — that  he  had  left  Belle  Aire 
while  all  the  doctors  and  nurses  were  in  the  house — 
that  he  had  gone  to  make  room  for  the  latter,  and 
Dorus  had  believed  it.  Now  that  all  were  gone,  all 
but  Dr.  Burslem,  she  began  to  wonder  why  Herman 
did  not  come.  She  was  still  too  weak  for  analytical 
reasoning.  She  only  knew  that  she  wanted  to  see 
Herman — to  hear  him  talk,  to  have  him  look  at  her 
in  the  old,  old  way. 

There  was  a  step — a  slow,  steady  step,  coming 
nearer  and  nearer. 

"  Are  you  dreaming  ?  " 

It  was  Ernesto — the  first  time  she  had  seen  him 
since  the  nearly  fatal  evening  among  the  pines. 

"  Ernesto !  "  she  cried,  her  eyes  brightening,  her 
face  lighting  up.  "  Why,  Ernesto,  you  mean  thing, 
to  keep  so  entirely  out  of  my  way  when  I  couldn't 
get  up  and  run  after  you.    Why  have  you  done  it  ? " 

206 


The  Last  of  the  Red-Gold  Leaves 

Ernesto  hesitated  in  embarrassment.  "  I  didn't 
want  to  agitate  you,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and  I  was 
afraid " 

"  But  it  hasn't,"  she  interrupted  eagerly.  "  You 
see  I'm  very  much  composed.  And  are  you  nearly 
well?" 

"  So  well  that  I  don't  understand  why  the  doctor 
won't  let  me  go,"  he  responded  dejectedly. 

Dorus  raised  her  finger,  threateningly.  "  Don't 
you  dare  question  my  Dr.  Burslem,"  she  cried,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  But  I've  wanted  to  go  for  a  week  back,  and  he 
keeps  saying,  '  Not  yet,  my  boy,'  as  though  I  were  a 
child." 

"  You  wanted  to  go  before  you  saw  me  ? "  she 
queried  seriously.  "  Do  you  hate  the  sight  of  me  so 
much  that  you  could  do  that?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  not  that — not  that.  I  was  only 
afraid "  he  stopped,  embarrassed. 

"  I  know,  Ernesto,"  she  began,  with  heightened 
color — "  I  know  that  I  have  done  you  a  great — a 
very  great  wrong.  I  know  now  that  you  were  right 
when  you  said  that  my  love  was  all  a  dream.  We  have 
forgotten  that  dream  now,  have  we  not  ? " 

He  was  sitting  so  that  he  could  watch  the  outline  of 
297 


The  Letter  H 


her  face.  As  she  spoke,  she  turned  her  eyes  from 
the  hilltop,  where  the  red  light  of  the  sunset  was 
slowly  fading  to  purple,  and  looked  straight  into  the 
face  of  the  man  beside  her. 

"  Ernesto,  Ernesto "  her  voice  broke,  "  it  was 

a  dream — a  dear,  mad  dream,  but  it  is  all  over  now." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  When  I  think  of  the  pain  and  the  trouble  I  have 
caused  you,  Ernesto — I  am  willing — I  will — put  my 
own  joy — whatever  shall  come  to  me  hereafter — 
aside — in  reparation." 

"  Why  should  you  make  reparation  ?  "  The  man's 
voice  was  almost  cold,  in  his  endeavor  to  be  calm. 
"  Why  should  there  be  any  reparation  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Ernesto,  I  told  you  I — I — cared  for  you.  I 
made  you  listen  to  me.  I  made  you  tell  me,  I — oh, 
Ernesto,  I  cannot  repeat  it." 

"  Dorus,"  he  said,  slowly  rising,  and  beginning  to 
walk  up  and  down  before  the  big  steamer-chair, 
"  Dorus,  I  knew  that  you  never  loved  me — really." 

"  You  knew  ?  "  she  cried,  lifting  her  head  quickly. 
"  You  knew,  even  when  you  said  you — cared  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dorus.  God  forgive  me !  I  knew  that  you 
were  dreaming — the  sweetest  dreaming — a  dream  to 
show  me  what  heaven  could  be  like.    Dorus — Dorus 

298 


The  Last  of  the  Bed- Gold  Leaves 

— you  taught  me  to  say  it — to  know  what  love  was — 
yet  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  knew  that  it  was  only  a 
trick — a  dream  from  which  we  must  both  awaken." 
The  man's  eyes  were  blazing  into  hers.  His  jaw 
was  set  in  resolute  lines,  and  his  arms  were  folded 
tightly  across  his  breast. 

The  girl  shrank  back,  her  face  tense  and  pleading. 

"  I  knew  you  could  not  mean  it,  Dorus — that  it 
was  not  you  who  taught  me  the  lesson  a  man  learns 
but  once,  but  some  wild,  sweet  thing  that  lives  only 
in  my  dreams.  God  forgive  me  for  telling  you  this, 
but  after  to-morrow  I — I  shall  never  see  you  again, 
Carina.  God  only  knows  where  my  life  will  lead  me, 
but  I  shall  never  forget  you." 

He  paused  and  turned  away.  The  twilight  had 
already  fallen  thick  and  dark.  When  he  looked 
back  at  the  girl  it  was  with  an  assumption  of  light- 
ness. He  touched  her  hands  gently,  and  quoted  an 
old  Scotch  ballad : 

"  Ye'll  gang  the  high  way, 
An'  I'll  gang  the  low  way, 
An'  I'll  be  in  Scotland  afore  ye; 
But  me  an'  my  true  love, 
We'll  never  meet  again, 
On  the  bonnie,  bonnie  banks  of  Loch — George." 

299 


TJie  Letter  H 


"  Good-night,  Doras.  It's  getting  cold  and  chilly; 
here  now.    Let  me  move  you  over  beside  the  fire." 

She  leaned  upon  his  arm,  and  together  they  walked 
slowly  into  the  great  hall.  There,  in  the  light  of  the 
blazing  hickory  logs,  he  settled  her  into  a  chair. 

"  I — I  may  not  see  you  again,  Doras,"  he  said, 
hesitatingly.  "  Aren't  you  going  to  wish  me  god- 
speed 1  " 

She  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  between  her  own. 

"Ernesto,"  her  voice  thrilled  him;  "Ernesto,  I 
wish  you  the  best  and  the  loveliest  that  God  can  give 
His  children.  Something  tells  me,  Ernesto,  that  it  is 
all  coming  out  right — that  the  tangled  web  we  have 
woven  is  being  straightened  out  at  last;  and  that 
after  all  our  pain  and  sorrow  the  Great  Weaver  has 
unravelled  the  twists  and  the  knots  and  is  moving 
the  shuttles  to  the  music  of  love.  The  best,  Ernesto, 
the  best  that  God  can  give  you !  " 

Ernesto's  lips  touched  the  tips  of  her  fingers  as 
they  lay  passive  in  his  great  hand.  And  with  the 
fairy  firelight  playing  over  her  pale,  sweet  face,  he 
left  her. 

Doras  lay  pensive  and  still  in  the  cheery  light  of 
the  hickory  logs.  He  had  really  loved  her,  then. 
What  was  there  for  her  to  do  ?  Wearily  she  brushed 

800 


The  Last  of  the  Red- Gold  Leaves 

her  hair  back,  and  laid  her  cool  palm  upon  her  fore- 
head. 

"  Dreaming,  little  girl? " 

Doras  started — Ernesto's  question!  Dr.  Burslem 
was  filling  the  doorway  with  his  portly  form. 

"  Oh,  Doctor,"  she  cried,  "  I  want  your  advice." 
She  pointed  to  some  cushions  piled  upon  a  couch 
and  laughingly  bade  him  sit  among  them. 

"  Doctor,"  she  asked  seriously,  "  what  would  you 
call  a  girl  who  made  a  man — care  for  her1 — and  then 
found — that  it  was  only — a  dream  ?  " 

"  A  coquette,"  he  answered  quickly. 

"  Am  I  one  ?  "  plaintively. 

"  Why,  what  have  you  been  doing  to  warrant  the 
name  ? " 

"  Why,  I  did  that,  Doctor.  I  made  Ernesto  care 
for  me,  and  now  I  find  I  don't  care  that  way  for  him." 

The  physician  left  his  seat  to  come  close  to  her 
side.    He  rested  his  hand  caressingly  upon  her  hair. 

"  Don't  worry  about  that,  Doras.  That's  a  dose 
every  man  has  to  take  in  this  life ;  and  he's  mighty 
lucky  if  it  happens  only  once.  It's  like  cod  liver  oil 
— you've  got  to  take  it  some  time,  and  it  helps  make 
backbone,  too.  And  on  those  southern  natures,  Do- 
ras, it  doesn't  always  make  a  lifelong  impression. 

301 


The  Letter  H 


"  Ernesto  ?  Dear  me,  child,  if  you  could  have  seen 
how  very  anxious  all  the  young  girls  over  at  the 
Montignac  were  to  keep  him  from  being  lonesome, 
you  wouldn't  worry  about  Ernesto.  There  was  a 
mighty  fine  girl  over  there  that  my  nephew  Richard 
seemed  to  like  pretty  well.  She's  a  newspaper 
woman,  and  it  began  to  look  as  though  it  would  be  a 
neck-and-neck  race  between  Ernesto  and  Richie.  By 
Jove !  little  girl,  I  don't  know  which  I'd  rather  have 
win  out.  I'm  fond  of  my  sister's  boy,  of  course,  but 
I'm  fond  of  our  Ernesto,  too.  He  is  a  fine,  strong, 
reliable  fellow,  I've  found  out.  He  is  a  born  musi- 
cian, and  some  day  will  wield  a  baton  over  his  own 
band  or  orchestra." 

The  doctor  looked  down  at  her  thoughtfully.  How 
pretty  she  was  in  the  firelight.  As  pretty  as  Lenore 
had  been  in  the  old,  old  days,  he  reflected.  Some- 
thing like  bitterness  crept  into  his  voice  as  he  thought 
of  the  aunt  and  the  lost  opportunities  in  the  years 
gone  by. 

"  Well,  well,  lassie,  it  doesn't  come  to  all  of  us, 
this  love  they  talk  about  And  if  it  doesn't  come,  we 
can  make  fame  and  reputation  take  its  place — if  we 
are  men.  Women  don't  usually  think  about  fame 
until  after  their  chances  for  happiness  and  love  are 
over." 

302 


The  Last  of  the  Red-Gold  Leaves 

Outside  in  the  silver  light,  with  an  arch  of  stars 
hanging  so  near  they  seemed  like  baubles  which  one 
might  catch  and  toss  with  scarce  a  thought,  Lenore 
and  General  Harlington  were  talking  softly. 

"  Shall  it  be  Genoa,  Lenore,"  he  was  asking,  "  or 
shall  it  be  Venice  ?  Whichever  you  choose,  dear." 

It  was  astonishing  how  easily  the  little  word  tripped 
over  his  lips. 

"  Could  Dorus  travel  so  far,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Lenore,  perhaps  by  April  Dorus  will  be 
choosing  her  own  wedding  journey." 

"  Horace,  Herman  has  not  been  over  yet.  I  won- 
der if  Dorus  misses  him  ?  " 

"  Did  you  see  her  watching  the  hills  between  us 
and  the  Montignac  to-day,  dear?  When  one  loves, 
one's  eyes  are  clear  for  the  signs  of  love  in  others. 
To-morrow  Herman  will  come." 

For  the  last  of  the  red-gold  leaves  had  fallen  from 
the  bare,  brown  boughs,  and  the  magic  had  wrought 
its  spell. 


m 


CHAPTEE  XXX 

love's  laukels 

"  After  many  years,  Carina !  " 

In  the  pale  moonlight,  Henry  Higby  held  out  his 
arms  to  the  little  woman  at  the  foot  of  the  low  steps. 
From  sunset  to  dusk,  from  dusk  to  darkness,  from 
darkness  to  silver  starlight;  and  until  the  glory  of 
the  stars  had  faded  into  cold  moonlight,  he  had 
waited.  He  heard  the  doctor's  heavy  step  as  he  went 
early  to  his  room.  He  had  heard  Doras  and  her 
maid  mount  the  stairs.  He  had  seen  Harlington  and 
Lenore  go  into  the  library,  and  as  he  passed  and  re- 
passed the  window  he  saw  their  shadows  reflected 
on  the  shade. 

Yet  she  for  whom  he  had  waited  had  not  come. 
She  had  gone  out  directly  after  tea;  and  from  his 
accustomed  place  in  the  window  he  had  watched  her 
as  she  went  swiftly  down  the  path. 

So  he  had  waited.  His  cigar  glowed  dull-red  in 
the  darkness.  He  did  not  realize  the  passing  of  the 
time;  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  years  that  had 
gone,  and  the  years  that  were  to  come.     The  past 

304 


Love's  Laurels 


was  empty — empty,  except  for  the  months  at  Guada- 
laxara,  those  months  in  the  dreamy  South,  under 
the  sunshine  and  the  palm  trees,  with  the  beautiful 
girl  who  was  half-intoxicated  with  love.  And  the 
future  was  empty,  too,  except  for  the  girl  who  was 
the  embodiment  of  the  Southland.  The  cigar  had 
burned  to  a  finish,  and  he  had  tossed  it  carelessly 
away.  He  lighted  another,  and  it,  too,  had  burned 
away.  Still  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  years 
that  were  passed  and  those  to  come. 

Then,  into  the  silvery  flood  of  the  moonshine,  she 
had  come — the  woman  who  had  been  the  soul  of  the 
dreamy-eyed  South,  who  had  been,  in  the  days  of 
the  long  ago,  the  girl  intoxicated  with  love. 

"  After  many  years,  dearest." 

The  man's  voice  was  thrilled  with  the  passion  of  it. 
The  woman  shrank  back,  and  drew  her  fluffy  shawl 
more  closely  about  her  gown  of  sombre  black.  Thus 
she  stood,  absolutely  motionless,  a  superb  statuesque 
figure,  while  the  moonlight  painted  her  in  a  radiance 
of  silver  sheen. 

The  fire  in  the  man's  eyes  compelled  her — his 
arms,  open,  waited  for  her. 

"  Dearest — won't  you  ?  " 

His  voice  was  pleading.  He  seemed  no  longer 
805 


The  Letter  H 


Colonel  Henry  Higby,  member  of  Congress  for  the 
Twentieth  District,  cold,  calculating,  emotionless, 
passionless.  The  habitual  skepticism  of  his  voice  and 
manner  dropped  as  a  robe  from  his  shoulders. 

His  arms  waited — his  eyes  burned  into  hers. 

a  Dearest — come." 

And  then,  slowly,  hesitatingly,  step  by  step,  she 
came  near,  near,  until  his  arms  folded  about  her; 
near — until  his  lips  touched  her  forehead,  tenderly, 
reverently. 

" And  he  arose  and  came  unto  his  wife. 

But  while  he  was  yet  a  great  way  off,  his  wife  saw 
him  and  had  compassion  on  him,  and  ran  and  fell 

on  his  neck  and  kissed  him And  he  said,  Wife,  I 

have  sinned  against  Heaven  and  against  thee  and  am 
no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  husband.  But  the 
wife — oh,  Carina,  Carina — for  this  his  wife  was  dead 
and  is  alive  again,  was  lost  and  is  found." 

Once  more  his  lips  touched  her  forehead,  and  the 
silver  moonlight  wrapped  them  close.  Long  shadows 
fell  athwart  the  pathway — two  shadows  so  close  they 
seemed  as  one.  Then  she  spoke,  so  softly  that  had 
his  face  not  been  so  near  he  would  have  missed  the 
words: 

"  It  is  I,  dear,  who  have  strayed  away.  It  is  I 
306 


Love's  Laurels 


who  grew  to  hate  you,  because  you  forgot  me.  It  is 
I  who  am  the  prodigal  Have  I  not  eaten  of  the 
husks — that  the  swine  did  eat?  Have  I  not  longed 
to  arise  and  go  unto  my  husband?  Oh,  Carina,  Ca- 
rina! Those  long,  long  years — I  brought  myself  to 
hate  you;  I  have  taught  my  boy  to  hate  you.  To- 
gether, my  boy  and  I,  we  plotted  for  your  undoing. 
Dear,  will  you  forgive  ?  " 

Very  humbly,  the  man  returned : 

"  Nay,  Carmelita,  it  is  I  who  need  forgiveness. 
Oh,  God!  it  was  my  pride,  my  fear,  my — oh,  Car- 
melita, I  cant'  ask  you  to  forgive  me.  It  is  a  sin 
too  great.  But  can't  we  begin  all  over  again,  sweet- 
heart? Cant'  we  pick  up  the  thread  of  our  lives 
where  we  dropped  it?  Dearest,  there  is  no  time  for 
those  who  love — no  time — for  the  years  are  not.  I 
have  not  lived,  dear,  since  those  old,  old  days  under 
the  sunshine  and  the  palm  trees.  Let  us  go  back  to 
God's  country,  dearest — back  to  God's  own  country." 

"  Beloved,  where  you  are — you  and  my  boy — that 
is  God's  country." 


The  dawn  broke  brightly  on  the  day  that  was  to 
be  Herman's  last  at  Montignac.     The  sun  crept  up 

307 


The  Letter  H 


the  eastern  wall  of  blue  and  peeped  coyly  over  into 
the  Lake  George  valley.  The  last  of  the  red-gold 
leaves  had  fallen  long  ago;  but  it  was  a  fair  valley 
and  a  fragrant  one  that  the  sun  looked  down  upon 
that  sweet  October  day;  for  the  balsam  and  the  ever- 
greens stood  as  fresh  and  beautiful  as  in  the  scarce 
more  lovely  summer-time. 

Herman  was  up  early  enough  that  morning.  All 
night  long  the  battle  had  raged — all  night  long  had 
the  unanswered  question  arisen,  "  Shall  I  go  ? " 

The  rising  sun  had  found  him  wide-eyed  and 
weary,  still  pondering  the  question.  His  vis-a-vis  at 
breakfast  was  a  friendly  young  fellow,  who  was 
rather  fond  of  harmless  gossip.  But  Herman  did  not 
prove  very  expansive  at  first. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  little  newspaper  girl  who 
was  up  here  five  or  six  weeks  ago,  Higby  ?  "  asked 
his  neighbor. 

"  Miss  MacDonald  ?  "  questioned  Herman,  with  an 
air  of  indifference.  "  I  remember  who  she  was.  I 
never  knew  her,  but  the  chap  with  the  gray  hair  who 
went  about  with  her  so  much  was  the  nephew  of  our 
family  physician.  What  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 
Herman  sipped  his  coffee  leisurely. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  returned  the  man,  "  only  she  was 
308 


Love's  Laurels 


a  deucedly  nice  girl.  Had  the  soundest  sense  and  the 
best  head  of  any  girl  I  ever  knew." 

"  Limited  acquaintance  ? "  suggested  Herman, 
wickedly. 

"  Limited  nothing,"  the  man  answered,  flushing. 
"  I've  known  enough  girls  to  load  a  big  steamer,  but 
Edith  HacDonald  was  the  nicest  of  the  lot.  She  said 
something  once  that  impressed  me.  If  it  wasn't  for 
that  editor  I'd  hunt  her  up  and  try  to  get  her  myself." 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  asked  Herman  listlessly. 

"  Why,  she  was  talking  about  a  fellow  who  wa3 
hanging  around,  trying  to  tell  a  girl  he  cared  for  her, 
and  he  was  afraid  to;  and  she  said :  '  Girls  are  usually 
more  anxious  to  hear  that  sort  of  thing  than  men  are 
to  tell  it.'  " 

How  much  longer  the  man  talked  on  Herman  did 
not  know.  "  Girls  are  usually  more  anxious  to  hear 
that  sort  of  thing  than  men  are  to  tell  it."  It  went 
through  his  head  again  and  again. 

Should  he  go  or  stay  ? 

"  By  Jove,  I'll  go." 

He  sprang  from  the  table  and  made  for  his  room. 
With  the  utmost  care  he  looked  himself  over.  Then, 
satisfied,  he  lifted  his  hand  and  made  a  military  sa: 
lute  to  his  reflection  in  the  mirror.    "  Here's  hoping 


The  Letter  H 


that  Dorus  will  be  the  least  bit  sorry  I'm  going 
away,"  he  said. 

It  was  a  longer  tramp  around  by  the  road  to  Belle 
Aire  than  by  the  way  that  led  over  the  water.  Her- 
man had  plenty  of  time  to  think  it  all  over  once 
more.  Yet  when  at  last  the  great  house  was  close  at 
hand  and  the  gravel  of  the  walk  was  crunching 
under  his  feet,  his  courage  almost  deserted  him.  He 
could  not  face  his  father — he  was  ashamed  to,  even 
before  Dorus.  There  were  no  signs  of  life  about  the 
place,  but  he  sauntered  up  the  steps  and  pushed  open 
the  heavy  oaken  door. 

Standing  by  the  wide  fireplace  in  the  hall,  he  saw 
Ernesto,  and  the  Mexican  seemed  stronger  and  better 
than  ever  before.  They  faced  each  other  silently  for 
a  moment,  then  Herman  went  forward,  impetuously, 
his  hand  outstretched : 

"  Brother !  " 

Just  one  word,  but  the  hand-clasp  was  long  and  fer- 
vent, and  each  knew  that  it  meant  the  honor  of 
Ernesto. 

It  was  in  the  library  that  Herman  found  Dorus 
at  last.    From  the  doorway  he  spoke  her  name  softly : 

"  Dorus." 

The  girl  started. 

310 


Love's  Laurels 


"Herman!  You  here?" 

"  I  am  going  back  to  college  to-day,  Dorus,  and 
I've  come  to  say  good-bye." 

"  Going  away  ?  "  she  repeated,  half  sadly.  "  Is 
everybody  going  away  ?  I  have  been  ill  a  long  time, 
Herman — won't  you  say  you're  glad  I'm  better  before 
you  go?" 

"  You  know  that,  Dorus.  It  seems  an  age  since 
I  saw  you." 

"  An  age  ? "  she  asked,  affecting  her  old  gayety. 
"  Why,  it  is  not  even  two  months.    And  then " 

"  Only  two  months,  it  is  true,  Dorus,"  returned 
Herman,  coldly,  although  it  was  in  this  mood,  when 
she  was  half  gay,  half  sad,  that  he  loved  her  best* 
"  But  so  much  has  happened  since  then." 

"Yes — how  much  has  happened  ?  "  said  Dorus, 
and  added,  with  womanly  solicitude,  "  Have  you 
seen  your  father,  Herman  ?  " 

"  Not  since — since  that  day,  when  I  learned  the 
truth— that  he  had  been  false  to  all  the  moral  pre- 
cepts that  he  had  taught  me  made  the  true  gentle- 
man.   My  brother " 

"  Your  brother  ?  "  interrupted  Dorus. 

"  In  the  sight  of  heaven,  if  not  of  man,"  said  Her- 
man, solemnly.     "  Cheated  of  his  rightful  name,  of 

311 


The  Letter  H 


his  rightful  fortune,  of  the  advantages  of  wealth  as 
rightfully  his  as  mine — I  cannot  stand  longer  in  his 
way,  Dorus.    If  he  wins  you " 

"  Herman !  Stop,  this  minute  !  "  Dorus  stamped 
her  foot  impatiently.  "  Why  do  you  talk  so  ?  Why 
should  Ernesto  want  to  win  me,  Herman  ?  " 

Herman  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  He  might  love 
you,"  he  suggested,  almost  haughtily. 

"  Love  me  8  Ah,  Herman — and  if  he  did  ?  Would 
not  my  feelings  on  the  subject  count  ?  " 

"  You  have  shown  us,  I  rather  think,  just  where 
your  heart  is." 

Dorus  rose  and  came  towards  him.  The  morning 
sunlight  lay  in  a  broad  patch  upon  the  floor;  it  kissed 
her  hair,  her  cheeks,  her  whole  slender  frame. 

"  Herman,"  she  said  seriously,  "  I  can't  tell  what 
it  was  that  made  me  act  that  way.  I  only  know  that 
it  was  not  I — that  it  was  a  long,  long  dream  in  which 
another  Dorus  Harlington  made  love  to  a  man  named 
Ernesto.    It  was  not  I,  Herman." 

Her  voice,  more  than  her  words,  thrilled  him. 

"  And  you  don't  love  him  ?" 

"  I  don't  love  him  that  way,  Herman,"  she  re- 
peated softly. 

Her  eyes  were  shining  now,  and  her  mouth  was 
312 


Love's  Laurels 


curved  with  a  smile.  She  was  the  little  girl  of  the 
braids,  with  the  brown  face,  and  the  berry-stained 
lips.     Yet  Herman  still  watched  her  coldly. 

"  Yet  you  are  going  to  marry  him,"  he  persisted. 

"  No,  Herman,"  and  she  smiled  again.  "  What 
made  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  You  said  so."  Just  his  old,  old  confidence  in 
every  word  she  uttered. 

"  But  I'm  not,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Colonel 
Higby  is  to  marry  Madam  del  Ton  jours  and  Ernesto 
is  to  be  his  son.  Why,  Herman !  "  she  cried,  seeing 
his  look  of  astonishment. 

"  Thank  God ! "  the  man  breathed  fervently. 
"  Then  it  would  be  no  disgrace  for  you  to  marry 
him." 

"  Colonel  Higby's  son  ?  "  she  queried,  mischiev- 
ously. 

"  One  of  his  sons — Ernesto,"  he  corrected. 

"  Silly !  Didn't  I  say  I  should  never  marry  Er- 
nesto?" 

"  Then  whom  do  you  mean  ? " 

She  came  so  near  that  she  touched  him  gently,  and 
the  sunlight  painted  her  with  its  glory  once  more : 

"  Herman,  Herman,  would  you  let  a  poor  girl  do  it 
all?    Won't  you  help  me  the  least  little  bit?" 

818 


The  Letter  H 


His  eyes  were  drinking  in  her  loveliness,  his 
arms  ached  for  her.    But  he  had  renounced  her ■ 

"  Help  you  ?    How  ?  "  he  asked,  stupidly. 

"  Herman,  I  said  I  was  going  to  marry  Colonel 
Higby's  son — one  of  his  sons — and  that  I  was  not 
going  to  marry  Ernesto." 

A  great  light  was  dawning  in  his  heart,  and  his 
eyes  were  blazing: 

"  Then  you  mean — oh,  Doras,  Doras — of  course 
I'll  help  you,  sweetheart" 

The  first  snow  lay  white  on  the  broad  acres  about 
Harlington  Hall.  The  river,  frozen  half-way  across, 
flashed  and  glistened  in  the  sunshine.  The  big  house 
was  being  redecorated  and  refurnished,  and  there 
was  an  unmistakable  air  of  bustle  and  preparation 
about  it.  The  two  little  curly-headed  coons  tugged 
a  diminutive  sled  after  them  as  they  ambled  up  the 
hill  at  the  back  of  the  house. 

"  R-Rastus,  does  yo'  knowed  dat  de  Gen'ral's 
c-c-comin'  back  h-h-home  dis  yere  very  day,  an'  dat 
M-M-iss  Doras  is  gwine  hab  a  big  w-weddin'  here 
nex'  month,  an'  dat's  what  all  dis  yere  f-f-fus'  is 
about?" 

"  Will  it  be  lak  de  1-Mas'  f-fes'val,  Jimmy? " 

"  Nop.  Dat  b-b-ball  we's  had  ain'  gwine  hoi'  a 
314 


Love's  Laurels 


c-c-candle  to  dis  yere  feast.  When  M-M-Miss  Dorus 
and  young  Marse  H-Higby  is  tied  up  in  de  h-h-holy 
bonds  ob  m-m-matrimony,  an'  de  Gen'ral  gibs  us  a 
new  missus,  de  strings  what  tie  de  money  bags  sure 
be  untied,  an'  we  uns  is  all  g-g-gwine  feas'  lak  de 
c-c-children  ob  Israel." 

The  two  little  figures  settled  themselves  on  the 
diminutive  sled  and  went  whizzing  down  the  incline, 
as  happy  as  two  little  Louisiana  negro  lads  could  well 
be  in  a  northern  winter. 

At  the  same  moment,  down  on  Newspaper  Kow, 
Edith  MacDonald  presented  herself  at  the  door  of  the 
holy  of  holies  in  the  office  of  the  "  Metropolitan." 

"  Oh,  Dick,"  she  cried,  as  she  opened  the  door 
without  the  formality  of  knocking,  "  I've  just  had  a 
letter  from  that  interesting  Mexican,  Ernesto  del 
Tonjours.  He  signs  himself  Ernest  Higby,  and  says 
that  Dorus  is  quite  well  now,  and  that  she  and  Her- 
man are  to  be  married  on  Christmas  day.  Isn't  that 
a  fine  ending  to  our  story?  And,  oh,  Dick,  he,  of 
course  I  mean  Ernesto,  is  going  to  Leipsic  to  finish 
his  musical  education.  Some  day  he  will  come  back 
to  America." 

"  What  as  ?  "  interrogated  Travis. 

"  A  great  violinist,  or  as  a  conductor  of  grand 
opera.    I  know  he  will,  it's  in  him." 

315 


The  Letter  H 


Edith's  eyes  were  laughing,  her  cheeks  rosy  with 
health  and  happiness.  Richard  Travis  put  his  arm 
about  her  and  kissed  her : 

"  And  it  is  only  two  months  until  we " 

"  Only  two  months — I  wonder  who'll  write  our 
story  2" 


THE  YKD. 


816 


"rT^HE  ART  OF  THE  PHOTOPLAY"  is  a  condensed 
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THE  POPULAR  NOVELS 


OF 


MAY  AGNES  FLEMING 


THE  ACTRESS'  NORINE*S  REVENGE. 

DAUGHTER.  PRIDE  AND  PASSION. 

A  CHANGED  HEART.  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 

EDITH  PERCTVAL.  SHARING  HER  CRIME. 

A  FATEFUL  ABDUC-  THE  SISTERS  OF 

TION.  TORWOOD. 

MAUDE  PERCY'S  WEDDED  FOR  PIQUE. 

SECRET.  A  WIFE'S  TRAGEDY. 
THE  MIDNIGHT  QUEEN.  A  WRONGED  WIFE. 


Mrs.  Fleming's  stories  have  always  been  extremely  popular. 
Their  delineations  of  character,  lifelife  conversations,  the 
flashes  of  wit,  their  constantly  varying  scenes  and  deeply 
interesting  plots  combine  to  place  their  author  in  an  enviable 
position,  which  is  still  maintained  despite  the  tremendous 
onrush  of  modern  novelists.  No  more  brilliant  or  stirring 
novels  than  hers  have  ever  been  published,  and,  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  the  seeker  after  romance  today  reads  these  books 
as  eagerly  as  did  our  mothers  when  they  first  appeared. 


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Popular  Mystery 
Detective  Stories 
by  Fergus  Hume 


HE  very  name  of  Fergus  Hume 
means  mystery  and  excitement, 
and  his  detective  stories  show 
that  he  is  a  past-master  in  the 
art  of  creating  thrills  and  un- 
usual situations,  of  baffling  and  elusive  in- 
tricacy. Lovers  of  mystery  stories  welcome 
each  announcement  of  a  new  book  by  this 
author,  who  is  widely  known  on  both  sides 
of  the  Atlantic. 


Claude  Duval  of  '95 
Coin  of  Edward  VII,  A 
Disappearing  Eye,  The 
Green  Mummy,  The 
Lost  Parchment,  The 
Mandarin's  Fan,  The 
Mystery  of  a  Hansom 

Cab,  The 
Mystery  Queen,  The 
Opal  Serpent,  The 
Pagan's  Cup,  The 


Peacock  of  Jewels,  The 
Rainbow  Feather,  The 
Red  Money 
Red  Window,  The 
Sacred  Herb,  The 
Sealed  Message,  The 
Secret  Passage,  The 
Solitary  Farm,  The 
Steel  Crown,  The 
Yellow  Holly,  The 


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A  A      000  157  521    6 


